Dusty
by YellowBella
Summary: She loves him. He loves her crazy. She's a hopeless romantic. He's just hopeless. She's afraid to let go. He won't let her. A story about a silly girl in love with a foolish boy. Here, forever is a lie. TeamBella23 - the realist and YellowGlue - the poet
1. Prologue

**Dusty Prologue**

**Isabella B. **

_Dusty, dirty from the chain. Lips of your kisses are sticking like tape. Woke you at sunrise, cold as a grave. I'll cut you some flowers, don't be afraid._

_Don't be afraid._

_._

_._

_._

"When did you get back?" I run my fingers through my mother's willow tree, keeping my voice low and my head down as I walk through its branches.

"Today," he says, following me. "I came here first. I haven't been by my home yet."

I smile to myself, sickly satisfied with his confession. I take a chance and look, glimpsing over my bare shoulder. Edward walks behind me, following my lead. His eyes are tired and his skin is unwell. Edward's hair is dirty, but his clothes are brand new.

Those are sometimes the perks of a sinner who has money: they look disgustingly beautiful.

The velvet green leaves tickle my arms, sending chills up and down my skin. Edward sighs and groans behind me, unimpressed with my built wall.

"Bella, I said I was sorry."

_I said I was sorry__—_it's silly how this has become a statement I hear on almost a daily basis.

"I mean, it's not like you're my fucking girlfriend."

I turn around and Edward is closer than I anticipated. He's so close, almost touching me, looking down with sad eyes and a regretful posture. He has a cigarette set on his ear, and I know there are more disgraceful addictions in his pockets. He runs a hand through his disarray of brown and red hair, sticking the other in the pocket of his black jeans.

"You're right. I'm your victim," I spit. "Just when I begin to think that I'm going to be okay, you want me one more time."

"I'll always want you, baby," he whispers, coming to me, brushing his nose along my jaw. He takes my hand and presses my palm against the pulse point in his neck. "Do you feel that? Do you feel how fast it beats? You make my fucking heart flutter, princess."

His sweet words and apologetic demeanor force me to surrender before I've even given a decent fight, sending my defensive walls crumbling. I don't have enough confidence to stand up to him for long. I always give in.

We've driven head first into this calamity of fucked-up, and I don't ever see us rising to the surface. He sucks me dry and fills me up with phony terms and broken assurances. Edward has me tied to him, mentally and physically, and nothing I do will ever change that.

He removes my hand from his neck. He kisses my knuckles and flashes his crooked smirk. I manage to keep myself from smiling back, even if my heart is exploding in my chest.

"You're high," I whisper, feeling the heartache in my stomach.

"I am." He smiles.

I move away from him, extending my hand to tickle the willow. "Were you with her?"

"With who, Bliss?" he asks guardedly.

I laugh out loud. And not because this is funny, but because this is pathetic. "Don't call me that," I say spitefully.

_Isabella Bliss._

I pass through the tree branches, sensing him behind me; Edward is studying my every move and detail, trying to find his way in. I can smell him: cigarettes mixed with Double Mint gum—a scent I know too well. I used to smell it on my skin, in my hair, and on my clothes. I used to savor it. But that was before.

I close my eyes, imagining for a moment that my heart isn't broken, and that he loves me just as much as I love him. I convince myself behind shut eyes that Edward doesn't choose drugs over me, continuously. I play myself a fool by believing that one day, it will only be him and me.

"Do I have to give names? Is there ever just one _who_, Edward?" I cry, brushing tears away as soon as they fall.

His silence slaughters.

"All this wanting is regret," I whisper, mostly to myself. Edward wraps his arms around me and it's hard to breathe … it's hard to speak. "All of this indecision, it's cutting what little we have left."

"What exactly do you want to hear? Who exactly do you want me to be?" His whispers of _forever_ and _outcome_ brush along my ear. His lips linger across my cheek. "When you turn eighteen, everything will be different, Bella."

I nod. Excuses.

"You look so fucking pretty in this dress. Let me take it off and love you," he begs, declares, and promises. Love is laced thickly through his tone, electricity flowing through his touch. "Let me be with you."

_His hand, my hand, fits so easy._

I know he loves me. I never doubt his love. I doubt his intentions and respect. I distrust his motives and allegiance.

_Love_?

I smother in his imperceptible, dictating love.

_He's loves traitor._

"My parents are home," I say, turning around to face him.

Edward kisses my lips lightly, running his hand up the back of my white halter dress, pulling the hair at the nape of my neck. "What did you do while I was gone?" he asks, tension rolling in waves though his body.

I laugh sorrowfully. "You mean, who was I with when you took off for a month?"

Edward groans in my ear, pulling my hair a little harder. "You better not have let anyone touch you. I swear to God, I'll fucking kill."

I whimper in result of the thrilling pain. I grip onto his arm and dig my nails into his skin. "No one. I would never do that to you." With my hand underneath his chin, I hold Edward by his face, forcing him to look at me. As a result, I'm forced to look into his dilated eyes. This isn't the boy I grew up loving, this is a man who brings me along for his ride.

"Because I love you. Because I love you, nobody else will ever touch me. Even though you are constantly touched," I say viciously.

He closes his eyes, shaking his head with a small smirk. "I wasn't with anyone, baby. I just wanted to get away. But I need to be with you." His eyes open and I miss his blue. His grip on my hair loosens, and he holds me close until there is nothing between us but my dress and his shirt. Edward whispers into my ear, "Come over tonight. Come over and let me show you."

With an easy breath, I answer, "_Okay_." And it doesn't feel a thing like falling.


	2. Dry and Dusty

**We do not own Twilight; we only screw them up and change their hair color.**

**Dusty has been in the works for a long time. It's going to be consuming, beautiful, and catastrophic. Be ready to see the reality of American youth at its worst. This is not your typical fic.**

_**Fall in love … do it.**_

**LovelyBrutal is our Beta.**

**Fever Ray - Dry and Dusty: **_Never leave me, walk close behind me. Your hand, my hand, fits so easy. No tomorrow, let us stop here. We did some great things, didn't we?_

_Dry and Dusty._

**Chapter One - Isabella Bliss**

"Walk close beside me, Bliss." Mom looks down at me. She seems joyful … hopeful. She laughs. "You chose to have a banana popsicle for breakfast?"

I nod, following my mom through the parking lot. "You told me to grab something."

Her thumb rubs miniature circles on the hand she holds. "I meant morning foods, not sugar."

I shrug.

"But that's what I get for allowing a fifth grader to choose her own breakfast, right?" Mom does some more smiling and it feels like music and sunshine. "Come on, Bella, we're going to be late on your first day."

I hold my popsicle between my lips as Mom guides me toward the front doors of Forks Elementary School. The school seems so large to me. It feels impossible and threatening. Dad promises that everything will be okay, but what if it's not? What if they don't like me? I wish we never had to move. I wish my dad never got a new job offer. I miss my old school, with my old friends, and my old teacher. I miss my old house.

My popsicle is cold on my teeth.

"Wait here, baby. I'm just going to run in and grab some paper work." Mom is trying to act cool and easy. She's afraid for me. I'm her baby. Mom and Dad's only child. I'm their _Isabella Bliss. _So I'm trying to be cool and easy, too. Mom and Dad worry too much, and I can do this. I'll find friends. Maybe I'll tell them they have to be nice to me because my dad is the Chief of Police, and if they're not, he'll arrest them.

_No, that won't work._

I can't see much of the school from its front entrance. I'm supposed to wait here, but I can hear them―other students. I bite the tip off of my banana popsicle and take a few steps in the direction of the noise. My pink backpack hangs high on my shoulders, and my clear jellies slip some in a puddle of water.

_My toes are wet._

I take nervous baby-steps, but the closer I get toward the gate, the louder the noises are. Playing noises. Laughing noises. Comfortable noises. I lean one hand against a tree and peek on the other side of the building. Through the chain-link fence are all of my new classmates. I feel like an outsider and intruder. Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm standing directly in front of the gate's entryway, watching, studying, learning.

My popsicle is half-gone and Mom still isn't back. Yellow sugar melts down my fingers. My lips are cold and my tongue is numb, but I can't stop looking. I'm about to be thrown into the lion's den and all I ate for breakfast was a banana popsicle.

_Bad choices._

"Do you really think that there is one single person in this entire town who's not going to love you, Bliss?" My dad said the night before. I may have cried. I may have whined, and I may have begged to move back to our home. Our home before we moved here five weeks ago. That home is so much better than this strange, cold, noisy home.

I'm not intruding there, but here, I am.

"Your new best friend is just waiting to be found, Bella," he said, patting my head.

"Yeah right, Dad," I grumbled.

"I'm serious, Bliss. There's someone in that school who was born to be your friend."

"Just one?" I smiled.

Last night Dad helped me feel better, and when I woke up this morning, while Mom was curling my hair, I felt good. I was determined and ready, but now, looking at all of these kids, I don't know.

I mean, is one person ever really born for another?

"Hey you, in the purple dress, move!"

I turn around and skip out of the way just as a crazy person zooms past me on her skateboard, almost taking out my toes. She skids to a halt and kicks up her board before she stomps in my direction.

She stomps. She doesn't walk. She stomps as if her feet weigh a hundred pounds each. She stomps like she means business, like she's going to run me over because I was in the way.

"You almost killed me!" the girl shrieks, closing the distance between us. "Don't stand there anymore."

"Okay," I say, leaning back against the fence. "I'm sorry."

She's in front of me, tapping her foot. She smells like chocolate chip cookies and playtime. It's early, but it's as if she's been up and sweating in the sun all morning long. Her cheeks are cherry-red, and her hair is long, board-straight, and dirty blonde. This skateboarder is awkwardly wearing a jean skirt. Her shoes are filthy, and the right one is wrapped in duct-tape. Her nail polish is chipped, and her shirt is brand-new and pink. In her hair is a bow, but it's there because someone told her to wear it; I can tell.

She's so pretty. So, so pretty. And she's fierce. And her eyes are the most crystal-clear blue color I've ever seen.

"I didn't mean to almost kill you," I whisper.

The girl just looks at me, tucking her board underneath her arm. Then she smiles, and so do I. "Are you eating a yellow popsicle for breakfast?" she asks, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

I look down at my popsicle and nod. "Yes."

"That's so cool. I wanted to eat cake for breakfast today, because it was my dad's birthday yesterday and we had chocolate cake last night, but Mom said no, so then I had to eat Frosted Flakes. Your mom is probably _waaayyy_ cooler than my mom. Lucky. You're so lucky. I'm Alice Cullen."

She's a capsule of energy. I can hardly keep up. "I'm Bella Swan."

Alice is small and spunky and smelly and cool. She's cooler than me, but she's different than me, too.

"Sorry I almost ran you over," Alice kind of, sort of blushes. "But I was going so fast because my brother was being so mean, and I wasn't paying attention because my mom made me wear this skirt"—she tugs on the end of her jean skirt—"and then I looked up and you were there, and it was too late to slow down, and you almost died."

I shake my head, excited. "I didn't almost die. I moved, remember?"

Alice kind of, sort of smiles, but she isn't looking at me, she's looking at my popsicle. "Can I have that? I mean, are you going to eat the rest of it? I mean, because it's melting all over your fingers anyway."

I look down at my popsicle, and she's right, it's almost all melted. I really wanted it, but she can have it. "Okay," I hand it over.

Alice _really _smiles now, blowing her bangs out of her face. "Thanks." One of her front teeth is slightly chipped.

I have a feeling she's about to finish off the popsicle in one huge bite when a boy with a few other boys approach us.

"Alice," some boy says, "return the girl's popsicle."

The boy, with the same eyes as Alice, stops beside us. His friends, two other boys, walk ahead. This boy is tall and lean. He towers over me, or at least that's how I feel placed along side him. His smile is lopsided, and his fingers run through his messy hair at a steady rate. He's cute, I guess. I mean, I don't know. I like his eyes.

"I gave it to her," I say, adjusting my footing.

"Yeah, Edward. She gave it to me." Alice eats the popsicle in one bite. "So shut up."

Edward laughs loudly, pulling on the ends of Alice's blonde hair. She swats his hand away, but he pulls a piece in the back. "Nice skirt, Ally," he teases.

She drops the popsicle stick onto the ground and swings her skateboard at him. The dirty and worn pink wheels spin, spin, spin. The grip tape is starting to peel off, and the deck itself has been messily spray painted a dark green color with half-torn stickers all over it. But they laugh happy laughs; Edward dodges Alice's swings, but she isn't really going to hit him, they're just playing. I watch them, straightening out my purple romper, touching my hair to make sure it's in place.

When the two of them are done messing around, _they come back to me_. "This is my brother, Edward," Alice says, pointing toward the boy with the same color eyes as her. "He swears he's cool because he's a sixth-grader, but he isn't even that awesome."

Edward pushes Alice. "I'm cool." He laughs. "And I'm awesome."

Alice rolls her eyes, jumping back onto her skateboard. She does circles around me and Edward.

"So, you're new?" Edward asks.

I count the buttons on his flannel to keep from looking at his face. Alice is wrong, Edward is cool. He speaks kind of softly, and he's full of energy, too. He's kind of like her; they are the same.

"Yes, today is my first day," I say, trying to stand tall. I dare myself to look in his eyes, and when I do, I smile. He's kind.

"What's your name?"

"Isabella Bliss." I immediately palm my forehead. Only my parents call me that; it's embarrassing.

Edward looks at me for three seconds before Alice rolls by and hits him as she goes. "Well, ummm, I have to go."

"Bye, Edward," I say, trying to hide my face behind my hair.

Alice is doing kick-flips and tricks on her skateboard behind me. The sound of her pink wheels hitting pavement is already oddly rewarding. It's like I've heard the sound my entire life. Those noises are supposed to be with me. They will always be. I know it.

Edward hesitates before he walks away. He pushes his fingers through his hair, and says, "I like the color."

I smile and look around. I'm clueless. "Of what?"

He crookedly smirks, and his eyes light up. "Your hair. I like the color of your hair."

"Oh." I touch my soft curls. "My mom says it's called strawberry-blonde. I let her curl it for me this morning." _I don't know why I told him that._

He laughs easy. "Your mom lets you to have sweets for breakfast and curls your hair for you in the morning? She sounds cool." He's walking backwards, slowly.

"She is," I answer, stuck in place.

"Well, see ya."

"Bye."

Edward turns around and begins to run toward his friends, but then he stops and faces me. "I really do like it." He smiles. "Your hair color, I mean."

I make a face. Why would he say that? What do I say back, _I like your hair, too? _Cause, I mean, he has cool hair; it's like brown and red or gold…

Is he making fun of me?

Edward's laughing, but it doesn't seem like he's doing it to make me feel bad. "Bye, Isabella Bliss."

I shake my head. "Bella. My name is Bella."

He nods and runs off, taking all of my embarrassment with him. Boys are weird, and they make me feel dumb. I wave goodbye before he's gone. Alice is still skating, and I enjoy watching her. I would never ride a skateboard, but it's kind of cool watching her do it. She's good, skilled. Alice has a few bruises on her legs and scraped knees, so it's apparent that she does this often. I like the way her hair flips when she hops onto her board.

"Bliss?" Mom calls for me.

Biting on my nails, I watch Alice for a moment longer before I run back over to my mom. She squints out into the parking lot, looking back and forth for me. In her hand is the paperwork she went into the office for. She looks over-worried and panicked.

"Right here, Mom."

Her face calms and she smiles, noticeably relieved. "I got your class number, baby. Where were you?"

"Over there." I point toward Alice.

Mom nods, taking my hand before heading toward the gate I just came out of. I want to talk to Alice more. I feel like she could be my friend. My only friend. I'm pulling on my mom's hand, asking her to wait. Mom isn't really paying attention to me. It's a mom thing: they're able to block out pulling, nagging, crying and whining.

We pass through the gate. Alice isn't really paying attention to me when an older man approaches her. He's pointing toward her skateboard, and by the face Alice is giving him, this isn't the first or the last time she'll be given grief about her hobby.

Alice quickly shoves the skateboard into her backpack; it mostly hangs out, but that doesn't stop her from putting her bag back onto her back. Alice is rolling her eyes, blowing her bangs out of her face. She nods and nods and nods … then she see's me.

"Mom," I groan, pulling down on her wrist. "Mom, stop."

"What, Bella?" She's flustered, more anxious about my new class than I am. Which is dumb. I'm the one spending the day in a new class, not her.

I point toward Alice, and she must understand because she truly smiles. Mom has a fresh face, but there are a few lines around her eyes that show when she is really happy about something, and they're showing now. "Did you already make a friend, Bliss?"

I nod.

Mom takes a good long look over at Alice, who is looking back at us. The man is still berating my new friend, but I can't see his face. He must be a teacher here, though. With his back facing my mother and I, he has his finger right at Alice's nose. She doesn't flinch, but he wiggles and shakes it as if he's saying: _no, no, no_. And: _bad, bad, bad._

My mom exhales loudly; she doesn't believe in yelling at a child, or spanking, or pointing fingers. She believes in smothering and closely-watching, but never shaming. My parents never snap at me, and I've never been hit. My dad says it's an indignity that children are hit at all. He never tells me details, but he's a cop, and he's seen his fair share of "hit" children over the years. Whatever that means.

Mom and Dad are constantly reminding me about the importance of making "good choices," and "keeping in my own body space." That man is definitely not remaining in his own body space. He's being mean.

"That's it," Mom whispers, pulling me by my hand behind her. The bangles on her wrist jingle and sing. Her skirt floats behind her, and her curly hair bounces with her steps. I kind of trip over my feet because Mom is walking too fast and my jellies get slippery. "Do you mind explaining to me _why_ you're yelling at this little girl?" Mom releases my wrist and points a finger in the man's face. "How do you like it, huh, huh, huh?"

Me and Alice giggle while the bald man with the ugly glasses stumbles over his words. "Well, you see, she's been told. Ummm, well..."

"Your mom is _soooo_ cool," Alice whispers, taking my hand.

Her hand is yellow-sugar sticky and sweaty and hot, but it feels like home. It feels like it's going to be in this spot forever. It feels like maybe Alice was born to hold my hand.

.

.

.

After Mom finishes lecturing the man on how to appropriately treat a young child, she escorts Alice and I to our class.

"You can't ride that skateboard on school grounds, Alice," Mom says. "But if he ever talks to you like that again, just let me know." And after comparing Alice's class number with mine, she says, "Oh, look, you and Bliss are in the same class."

Yeah, Alice is my only friend and she's in my class. We're sitting right next to each other. The scent of chocolate chip cookies and sweat is beside me. Oh, and chocolate cake.

"You brought chocolate cake to school?" I ask when she offers me a some from her baggie. It's squished and squashed. It doesn't even really look like chocolate cake anymore.

"Yeah, I'm always hungry." She giggles. "Mom said I couldn't have cake for breakfast, but she didn't say I couldn't have it at all." Alice shrugs her shoulder like it's no biggie.

The other kids in class stare at me like I look strange or something. I don't. Mom curled my hair for me this morning, so I don't look strange.

Mrs. Perkowski, our teacher, introduces me as the newest student to have arrived to Forks Elementary School. I blush, they wave, and now Alice is offering me some of her left over cake. We share crayons when we begin our class work; she divides the crayons by giving me all of the girl colors: pink, yellow, purple, and turquoise. And she keeps all the "tom-boy" ones: blue, black, red, and green. We share orange because it's neutral.

_I like the way she looks at me._

During our first recess, Alice sticks with me. I swing on the swings while she tries to chase boys.

"I can't run in this darn skirt!" Her face turns a light shade of red as she stretches out denim, ripping a few stitches.

At lunch I share my turkey sandwich with her. She offers me some of her peanut butter and jelly, but I tell her it's okay.

I meet some new friends:

Lauren: She's in our class. She's really pretty and really nice. She likes my purple romper, and I like her pink headband. I think she wants to be my friend, but we're both equally shy.

Garrett: He's in my class, too. He just said _hey_ and that's it.

Leah: She smiles at me, and I feel bad because I don't tell her she has lettuce in her teeth. It would be rude to embarrass her in front of her friends, and I don't want her to hate me. She'll figure it out sometime during the day.

Jasper: He's shy, too, and I have a feeling he doesn't use his words too often, but he speaks with his eyes and it's comforting. He's best friends with Garrett.

Kim: She demands attention from everyone, and I don't know how I feel about it. She's friends with this girl Charlotte, and I don't think she likes me either.

After lunch, we're back on the playground and I see Edward again. He's out on the field playing soccer. Alice is busy throwing tater-tots she stole from the cafeteria at Kim, so I watch her brother run up and down the grass field. There are a bunch of other kids with him, kids who I figure are his friends. On the sidelines are girls; they smile and giggle and whisper to one another.

I think they're stupid. Why are they giggling at sweaty boys kicking a ball around?

The blonde boy kicking the ball back and forth with Edward smiles at the girls, but Edward's in his own world. His concentration on the ball is unbreakable as he rushes down the other side of the field with a trail of followers chasing after him. His hair falls in his eyes, he's smirking, and I wonder if he ever stops.

I stand at the end of the swings until Edward kicks the ball into the white net. He makes a goal, and the few people on his team all seem to be happy about it. The blonde boy who was flirting with the girls jumps on his back, and another boy with darker hair tackles the back of his knees until all three of them are on the ground.

The girls are clapping, still whispering and giggling. Only now, they point, too. They point at Edward and his friends, and it's odd to me._ What's so special about him?_

"Tater-tot?" Alice asks, popping one into her mouth.

I look away from her brother, into her eyes. She has a few freckles scattered across her nose and a small scar by her left eye. I wonder if she'll ever tell me how she got it. I wonder if she's going to be my best friend, because I want her to be. I wonder if she thinks I'm strange because I stare at her so deeply. I wonder if she realizes how hard it is not to look at her so closely.

"No thanks," I say, turning away from the soccer field, deciding that tomorrow morning I'm going to bring Alice her very own banana popsicle.

.

.

.

After my very first day of the fifth grade is over, I go home and call my dad and tell him all about my new school: "My teacher was okay, but she smells like peanut butter," and "Everyone liked my purple romper so I think I'll wear my pink one tomorrow," and, "I made this new friend but she's kind of different, and she sneaks chocolate cake into school in lunch baggies."

That's where he stops me, saying he'll be home from work soon.

When my dad gets home, I don't give him a chance to change out of his uniform before I'm talk, talk, talking about Alice Cullen again: "She has a skateboard and a brother, but she has a _skateboard_!" and, "She held my hand on the way to lunch today, and she shared crayons with me, and she threw tater-tots at this other girl because she said she was mean to her, and ..."

I go on and on and on. My parents are happy that I've found a person to bond with right away. I kind of, sort of tell them about Edward, but Dad gives me a funny look, so I ask him about his day instead.

Dad and I shared first days: his first day as the new Chief of Police, and my first day of school.

The next day I bring Alice a popsicle, and she brings me a piece of chocolate cake. It isn't smooshed either. She eats her popsicle right away, but I'll wait to eat my cake until lunch because I don't have a fork.

Edward looks at me like he wanted a popsicle too. Maybe tomorrow.

Alice and I become close in the weeks following the beginning of the school year. We're best friends, and despite our dissimilarities, we get along wonderfully. The more time that passes, the more comfortable we get. We're an odd couple, but that doesn't bother us. I like Alice the way she is, and she deals with my girly tendencies.

It's true, we're near perfect.

Everyday we have a sort of routine: Mom drops me off at the front of the school in the morning, and Alice meets me outside the gate where she can ride her board. Sometimes Edward is with her, sometimes he's not. I give Alice a popsicle, and she gives me whatever junk food she finds in her house before leaving for school.

At recess, Alice chases boys or makes fun of Kim, but I watch Edward play soccer. I've learned that his blonde haired friend is named Petey, and the dark haired friend is named Ben. He has a lot of other people he hangs out with, but those two are his closest friends.

They are his Alice.

Since meeting Alice and Edward, I've only spoke to Edward a few times. He smiles at me in the mornings, and every once and while he'll say _hi_. He hasn't said anything more about my hair, which is a relief. I keep thinking about what I would say if he ever commented on my hair again, and everything I came up with is pretty dumb: _"My mom said I can't talk to boys,"_ and _"Shut up, Edward!"_

I'm just glad he hasn't mentioned my hair again. My mom did tell me not to talk to boys, and Edward is all boy.

Sometimes he smells like Alice, only worse.

As August, September, and a lot of October pass, I'm beginning to think that Edward might never talk to me again. Not that I really care, because, well, I don't care. It just makes it more awkward when Edward asks out of nowhere, "Why does your mom call you Bliss?"

I have part of a Twinkie (courtesy of Alice) in my mouth, and I'm taken off guard by the question, so I don't bite down just yet. Edward stuck around by the gate with Alice and waited for me before class started today; his friend Petey is with him. I don't particularly like the way Peter looks at me, but then again, I don't think I like the way any boy looks at me. Even Edward, because sometimes he stares at me with those abnormal blue eyes and it's just scary.

Now Alice, Edward, and Petey are all waiting for my answer, and I don't want to tell them. So I chew my Twinkie slow, slow, slow. When the first bite is finished, I take another.

Edward smiles; his eyes are set on at my mouth. Then Petey says something like, "She's a fifth grader?" And Edward looks at him instead.

I'm still chewing, doing all I can to procrastinate this conversation. Alice becomes bored with my slow eating and starts riding her board around the parking lot. Edward waits for my answer after he kind of mumbles a little something to Petey, and Petey sort of rolls his eyes before crossing his arms over his chest and loud-sighing.

When I swallow the last of my Twinkie, I'm sad because it's all gone. Mom doesn't usually buy sugar-foods. She says that it's bad for my teeth, and that's why I don't tell her about my daily exchange with Alice.

"Well," I say quietly.

Petey runs after Alice, pushing her around on her board, leaving me and Edward by the gate alone. Edward leans back against the fence, holding his backpack on one shoulder. I'm looking at his face and wondering if it's possible that he actually looks older than he did three months ago.

I wonder if I look three months older.

"You don't have to tell me, Bella," he says so softly his lips hardly move. His eyes are ahead, watching his best friend and his little sister play around. He seems to be a little bit annoyed with Petey, only not really.

"It's stupid," I whisper.

It's the middle of October, but I'm still wearing a dress. Mom tried to talk me out of it; we compromised on the red pea-coat.

I press the tip of my Mary Janes into the ground. The hem of my dress falls right at my knees, brushing lightly across my skin. Mom was right, it's too cold to wear summer-dresses, but I hate jeans, and I hate sweaters. I hate tennis-shoes and socks. I like bows and lace and plaid-print and straps and sandals and jelly-shoes. Alice tells me that I look funny, but I look pretty.

My daddy says so.

Edward looks right at me, and I have a feeling he's going to say something about my hair again, so I make a face. These Edward-induced-faces probably aren't too pretty, but I can't help it. He makes me feel weird.

"My mom calls me Dusty." He laughs, pushing himself away from the chain-link fence.

"Why?" I ask.

His eyes return to Alice when he says, "I have no fucking idea." Edward chuckles like he knows exactly why, only he doesn't want to tell me.

He doesn't have to tell me because I can't believe he cussed!

I probably look like a fish with my mouth open, gasping for air, but I rarely hear my parents curse, and it's outrageous to me that Edward just said the f-word so freely. I feel like I should tell on him or something, but then, I feel like it makes Edward, the sixth-grader, so much cooler.

"My parents call me Bliss because it's my middle name. I'm kind of a miracle." I shrug my shoulders, trying to control my blush. "My parents had a hard time trying to have a baby, and when I was finally born, up until they filled out my birth certificate, I was going to be named Isabella Marie after my grandma. At the last minute my mom changed it to Isabella Bliss." I touch my warm cheeks. "My mom says it's because I was a blissful wonder."

He smiles slightly before sticking his hands in his pockets. "She was right."

During class, Alice informs me that her family some of the time refer to Edward as Dusty because he used to cuss when he was a small child. At the age of two or three he overheard his dad say the word "asshole." Apparently, Edward repeated it over and over and over, and because he was so young, their parents thought it was funny, declaring that his mouth was mini-foul, _dusty_, not filthy. However, his language only got worse over the years. Especially lately, she says.

"But it's too late to call him Filthy, because he's already Dusty." Alice explains, coloring her fingernails with green marker.

.

.

.

It's Halloween, and Alice and I are dressed up for the parade at school. Actually, everyone dressed up. Kim is a lady-bug, but her dress is too, too short and she almost got sent home for the rest of the day because of it. Luck for her, her mom brought her a pair of shorts to go under her costume. Only now she's being dramatic, claiming her costume is ruined because of the shorts underneath.

Alice says that Kim is "scandalous."

I like the word.

_Scandalous._

It rolls off of my tongue nicely.

Jasper Hale dressed up as Freddy Kruger, and he's been spending all morning chasing my best friend around the swing set. She screamed when he first scared her, but Alice dressed up as Michael Myers, so maybe Jasper Hale is kind of afraid of her, too.

Mrs. Perkowski is dressed up as an apple, and it's cute because she's a teacher, but she still smells like peanut butter, so I don't like it when she gets too close to me. She gave us candy, though.

"What are you?" Edward asks from behind me. His voice is close to my ear; he tickles my neck with his breath.

I step away from him, and he laughs like he always does whenever he embarrasses me. "What do you want, Edward?"

He jumps in front of me and I scream.

I'm dainty and zombies scare me, so what?

"You look like a princess. Is that what you are, Bliss? A princess?" Edward's face is covered in white-gray make-up, and fake blood covers his clothes. Not too far behind him are Petey and Ben, and they look the same as Edward, only not as scary. No way, Edward looks frightening.

It's his eyes; they pierce.

"Yeah," I say, turning away from him, crunching on my Blow-Pop. "I'm Sleeping Beauty."

Alice runs through the playground, screaming at the top of her lungs while Jasper runs right after her. It's the most I've ever seen him move; he's always so laid back.

Laid back: another term I've learned from Alice.

Leah, who's dressed up like a cheer leader, is with me. I don't think she knows what to make of Edward and his friends. In fact, she looks like she is about to cry. Edward, Petey, and Ben are here to tease me, though. She has nothing to worry about.

It seems like they've been doing a lot more teasing than usual lately. Edward never misses a chance to pull on my hair or hide my backpack from me. Last week Petey took it into the boys' restroom. Alice almost went in after it, but Jasper Hale did it instead.

"Awww, a pretty-pretty princess," Edward says, twisting one my curls around his finger before he and his friends begin to laugh at me.

"Leave me alone, Edward!" I shout, moving away from him again.

Petey jumps in front of me, waving his hands around like an idiot. I breathe out of my nose, pushing him away. He looks gross, not that he ever looks better, but he looks especially gory today. While I'm pushing Petey away from my body-space, Ben tugs on my princess dress. I swipe his hand away and straighten out my pink, silk-satin.

"Hey," Edward says to his friends, but they don't stop picking on me. Leah isn't saying anything, not that I expect her to. If Alice wasn't being stalked all over the playground she would stick up for me. I know that these boys are only messing around, and I'm used to it, but that doesn't mean I like to have my costume made fun of or pulled on.

"Petey, quit it." I stomp my foot on the ground, but this only causes them to laugh harder. I'm covered in glitter, blush, and a little bit of lipstick, and these stupid boys are ruining it.

So I start to cry.

Leah runs away to get Alice, but it's Edward who kind of, sort of comes to my aid.

"Bliss," he whispers softly, "don't cry, princess-pie."

He feels bad for making me cry; I can see it on his zombie face and hear it in his worried-tone. Edward touches me, but I step away from his contact. I'm sniffling and my chin is quivering. Alice is here and she's yelling. I hide my face in my hands and cry until my shoulders heave up and down.

"Darn it, Dusty, look what you did." Ally smells like running and laughter.

Edward doesn't say anything, but I swear I can feel his anxiety. Poor boy. Poor, poor boy.

This is the part where I start to feel bad, too.

Pretending to cry in order to make zombies feel terrible isn't nice. So between Alice yelling at Edward, and Edward felling awful for making me cry, I remove my hands from my face and say, "Just kidding!"

Ben, Edward and Petey take a step back. Petey and Ben blush because you aren't supposed to make girls cry, and they thought I was, so the joke is on them. But Edward, his stabbing eyes focus right in on me like he's saying: _game on, Bliss._

I stick my tongue out at the teasing trio before I take Alice's hand and we skip away toward the Halloween parade together.

Alice wins Most Horrifying costume in the school's contest.

I win nothing, but I get a snack sized Snickers from Garrett, so I'm happy.

.

.

.

"Do you think your mom will let you come over?" Alice asks, taking half of my sandwich while I take her oatmeal cookies.

Turns out I have a massive sweet-tooth that I was unaware of before I met Ally nine months ago.

I shrug, biting into the brown-sugar gooey goodness. "Maybe. I have to ask my mom and dad."

Alice trades me her white milk for my chocolate milk. "Okay. My mom says it's fine if you spend the night. She even said she'll make dinner, which is really weird because my mom doesn't cook."

I hold the cookie up. "She makes cookies."

Alice rolls her eyes, opening my milk before her own. "No, Bliss, Mom buys these from the baker on her way home from―" Alice pauses to think. "Well, from where ever it is she goes during the week."

We giggle. I split my baby-carrots with her.

She dips them in ketchup, and I almost throw-up.

"When I get home I'll ask my mom if I can spend the night tonight."

"She'll say yes," Alice assures me with a mouth full of food.

Edward comes by our lunch table and takes my white milk.

.

.

"It's almost summer and Alice wants me to spend the night." I've never been allowed over to a friend's house before, let alone able to spend the night in another home. But I'm going to be a sixth grader soon, so I think I'm old enough.

Dad doesn't look up from his newspaper, but Mom is waiting for him to say something. She has that "Mom" look again. She wants to say no. If she says no, I'll die. I can't be away from Alice all summer; she's my best friend.

My heart is beating all kinds of rigid and quick. I'm chewing on my bottom lip and pulling on the ends of my hair. It's May, so I'm able to wear skirts again. When the sun first started to show I practically threw all of my jeans away. But now I can feel my knees tremble, so I sit and cross my legs, giving me parents the _please, please, please _face.

"Isn't there a boy in that house?" Dad asks, finally putting his paper down on the table.

"A boy? Oh, you mean Edward? He isn't a boy, he's a brother." I stop pulling apart my hair.

Mom laughs, but Dad doesn't.

"I don't feel comfortable allowing you to sleep under the same roof as a boy, Bliss." Dad sits back in his recliner.

"But Alice is my best friend."

"She's a good kid, Charlie," Mom says, not completely confident in her own words. And it's not that she doesn't like Alice, it's because my mother and father's grip on me is sometimes too tight for comfort. Since becoming friends with Alice and Edward I realize how different and strict my parents really are compared to other moms and dads.

I crack my toes on the carpet, waiting for their decision. I feel like I'm about to break loose and jump right out of my skin. Never in my entire short life have I ever wanted to yell at my parents, but sitting in this living room while they give each other half-looks and share huffed-breaths, I feel like screaming. I feel like standing up and demanding some freedom.

"Please let me spend the night with my friend," I say steadily, keeping care of my tone. "It would mean a lot to me."

For some reason, I think back to when Edward cursed that one morning. I've re-played that moment a million times in my head, but I've never had the courage to say it out loud. I remember the way his face looked when he said it.

_Fucking._

"_I have no fucking idea."_

He was so sure of himself, and I think I like the way his eyebrows crunched together as the word left his lips. He ran his hands through his hair and adjusted his backpack. But right before he said it, he licked his bottom lip.

Fucking.

_Let me fucking go, Dad_.

_I want to fucking go to Alice's, Mom._

_This isn't fucking fair!_

I could never.

"I'll want to meet some parents," Dad says uncertainly.

I stand up and scream. I jump up and down and clap my hands and do a little dance. I hug my daddy and don't pay attention while he grumbles words about pre-teen boys and something called a chastity belt.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I squeal, taking off up the stairs to pack my bag.

"Isabella." Dad's deep tone echoes off of the walls. "We're trusting you."

I lean against the banister and nod my head, quickly thinking about Edward. "You can trust me," I say, forgetting about Edward and thinking about Alice. "I promise."

"I know we can," Mom replies, smiling until her laugh lines show.

I take their silence as a sign and make my exit up the stairs. I grab my backpack and dump out all of my school stuff before tossing in nail polish, hair brushes and lip-glosses. I find a pair of pajamas and stuff those inside along with a pair of clothes for tomorrow. While I brush my teeth, I call Alice and ask for directions.

On the car ride over I can hardly remain in my seat. Dad didn't come along, but Mom is driving with strict instructions: she must talk with parents and make sure that the boy doesn't look like a threat. They're totally embarrassing, but I don't let it bother me, because for the first time in my entire life I get to spend the night at a friend's house.

After turning into Alice's drive-way, my mom whistles as she looks around. "This place is nice," she says, mostly to herself.

She's right, their house is nice. It's big and white and not a thing like our home. Out front on the porch is Alice. She opens the screen door and yells into the house. When Mom stops our car, I get out and run toward my friend. We hug and Alice takes my bag from me.

Mom takes a little longer than me to remove herself from our car. Alice waves to her and offers a hug when Mom finally stands beside us. Alice and I are talking about how excited we are, making plans to stay up late and eat lots of candy when the screen door opens and a lady walks down the stairs.

This lady is a presence.

She's wearing a tight blue shirt and a black pencils skirt. Her high-heels tap on the wood as she descends down the steps. Her hair is an unnatural red color, but it's seamlessly curled and styled. And when she smiles, I feel Mom almost cringe.

Alice's mom looks nothing like my mom.

"You must be Renee," the lady with the deep-red hair says, offering her hand.

Mom flattens her curly hair before shaking Mrs. Cullen's hand. "Yes, and your name?" Mom asks kindly.

"I'm Esme Cullen. I'm sorry that my husband isn't here, but he's stuck at the office." Esme glows charisma and charm. I'm infatuated with her … I like the sound of her voice.

Alice rolls her eyes and sticks a finger in her mouth like she's going to throw up.

Mom browses over Esme Cullen for a few more seconds before her eyes fall and settle onto me. "Okay, Bliss, I'll be back for you tomorrow afternoon."

I wish it was tonight forever.

"She'll be fine," Esme says brushing her hand along my long blonde hair; her touch is soft like butter, and I naturally gravitate toward her. She smells clean and fresh and simple. "Do you want to come in and look around before you go?" she asks my mom, snagging a string off of her skirt.

Mom shakes her head; I don't know what she sees in Esme, but if it's anything like how I feel, she knows I'll be okay here.

Safe. This home feels safe.

When Mom is gone, we all take a deep breath. I'm free. It happened. She left. I'm not at home, but with my best friend in the world. I'll sleep next to her, and she'll let me paint her nails. I'll try to brush her hair, and maybe, just maybe, Alice will let me apply some lip-gloss on her pouty lips.

Alice and I look at each other before sprinting into the house. The inside is even better than the outside, and I feel like if take a wrong step I'll break something. I stop dead at the door and admire the art on the walls and the huge-huge-hugest TV in the living room.

On the couch is Edward.

He looks at me, and I look at him.

Then he smiles.

He doesn't have any shoes on.

I can see Edward Cullen's toes and it's kind of, sort of weird.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, and it's only in this moment that I notice Petey and Ben sitting next to him.

"Shut up, Edward. Bella can spend the night if she wants to." Alice cuts in, standing in front of me.

I look over her shoulder toward Edward. The boys are playing some game on the huge-huge-hugest TV. There is a bag of Doritos and three Cokes down by their feet.

Edward looks different outside of school.

"You're sleeping here? Why?" Edward says and Petey snorts. Ben just laughs. He always does whatever Edward and Petey do.

I think Alice is about to attack them when their mother comes in from outside. She looks over at Edward and makes a noise with her lips. "Edward, have some fucking manners and be polite."

That word again!

"And clean up before your dad gets home," she adds before stepping into the kitchen.

Edward looks embarrassed for being scolded by his mother in front of his friends. He tosses the remote control onto the floor and begins to clean up after himself and his followers. Alice steps into the living room and pulls me along with her. She sets my backpack beside the love-chair and holds my hand while we watch Peter and Ben race cars or something.

It's quiet for a while, until Petey loses and I laugh at him. Then he starts teasing me again. Alice and Petey start screaming at each other, and all I want to do is go to her room and listen to pop songs and try on Esme's heels, but when Alice gets started it's hard to get her to stop.

"You're just mad because you're ugly, Petey, and you suck," she says, pointing a finger from where we sit.

Alice is wearing a pair of mismatched socks: one is pink and one is black. It reminds me of school when Alice and I share crayons and she takes the boy colors and I take the girl colors. Her hair is down like it normally is, parted down the middle. As she yells, she pushes it behind her ear, but it keeps falling into her face. She's still in her school clothes: a cut off pair of jean shorts and a white and pink polka-dot shirt. I don't know where her board is, but I have a feeling that if she had it she would be swinging it at Petey's head.

When Edward comes out of the kitchen he looks more upset than he did when he went in. He tells Petey to shut up, but he doesn't listen.

"You dress like a boy," and, "You suck on the skateboard, not me," and, "Did I hurt your princess feelings, Bella?"

Petey is a jerk and super annoying.

"Hey," Edward yells over his friends, silencing us all. "Don't talk to my sisters like that."

_Sisters?_

Edward doesn't bother to correct himself. He retrieves his controller off of the ground and continues his game like he never said anything at all.

Maybe I smile at him.

When the boys start to do boy things and act all boy-like, Alice finally escorts me up to her room. It looks exactly like she told me it did: band posters and dirty clothes. Her bed-spread is pink, white and black zebra print; it's silky and wonderfulness.

"Can I paint your nails?" I ask her, showing her the glitter pink color my mom bought for me earlier this week.

Alice looks down at her nails and shrugs. "Sure."

We sit on the floor, but Alice has to wash her hands before I can get started; they're dirty from when she was skateboarding before I got here. When she comes back from the bathroom she wiggles her fingers in my face and laughs.

I get half of a hand done before the bedroom door opens and three boys come barging in. They steal my nail polish and flicker the lights on and off while Alice and I try to get up off the floor to chase them. It isn't until Alice jumps on Petey back that I realize I'm laughing until I cry.

I can't remember a time I've had this much fun and I only just got here.

"Want this?" Edward dangles the nail polish above my head.

"Yes."

"Do you think you can catch me?" He palms the nail polish and runs out the door.

Petey and Ben are chasing Alice around the room. She laughing, having fun, so I take off after Edward. He runs in the opposite way of the stairs, down the hall. I follow, demanding that he give it back. Edward opens a bedroom door and goes inside.

It's his room.

I stop.

Following him would be a bad choice.

Edward peeks his head out of the door. "What's the matter, Bliss?"

"Give me my nail polish, Edward," I demand. There is no way I'm going near his bedroom. My dad would be so upset.

Edward smirks a mischievous smirk. He steps out of his bedroom but remains beside the doorjamb. "I think I'll keep it, strawberry-blonde."

I make a face. "Give it back."

He tosses it into the air. "Say please."

"Please."

"Say it again."

"Edward," someone says from behind me in an all-authoritative tone, "give the poor girl her nail polish back."

I spin around, coming face-to-face with a man; a tall, powerful man. This person's body-language screams power and sureness. His suit is perfectly pressed and his hair is flawlessly gelled. He's clean shaven and smells so good. He looks exactly like Edward, or Edward looks exactly like him.

"Dad, this is Isabella. Alice's friend from school," Edward introduces me, pressing the nail polish back into my hand before he steps past me and his father.

"It's nice to meet you, Isabella."

"Hello, Alice's dad," I say, greeting him with my hand like my mom did with Esme earlier. He takes it with a small-teensy-big-huge grin. His hand is warm, but not so soft, and not so gentle. He's careful to cradle my small hand in his large one. He doesn't squeeze, but I can feel the power behind his grip.

His eyes aren't exactly trustworthy, but they are caring.

Mr. Cullen laughs and it trembles through my chest. "Call me Carlisle, sweet-child." He releases my shake and moves to the side with a slight nod.

In front of Alice's bedroom door, Edward is waiting for me. He smiles a half of a smile and raises an eyebrow, asking me to _hurry up already_.

"You're welcome into my home anytime, princess." Carlisle's voice is so sure and so positive that I instinctively believe him absolutely. But it's not the invitation that takes me by surprise, it's the _princess_ he added at the end.

I snap my eyes up at Carlisle, then back at Edward, and in this moment I immediately know that there is more than one person in Forks who was born to be my friend.

There is an entire family.


	3. Strawberry Swing

**We do not own Twilight; we only screw them up and call them different names. All rights and respects to Stephanie Meyer, Coldplay, The Beatles, Stacy Peralta and Nicki Minaj.**

**LovelyBrutal is our beta. And I love her like purple shooting stars.**

**Coldplay - Strawberry Swing: **_Cold, cold water, bring me 'round. Now my feet won't touch the ground. Cold, cold water, what do you say? It's such, it's such a perfect day. People moving all the time inside a perfectly straight line. Don't you wanna just curve away, when it's such, such a perfect day?_

**Chapter Two - Isabella Bliss**

"What about this one?"

Mom holds up a black and white one piece swimsuit with pink hibiscus flowers printed all over it. It could be cute, but I want something softer. No black.

I shake my head, laughing as she holds up a purposefully sillier replacement suit. It's silver with red stripes around the tummy, like something a super athlete girl might wear. Not me.

I have two swimsuits at home that I brought with me when we moved from Phoenix, but Mom decided she needed a new one for the summer. So, we're having a girl's day in Port Angeles. We've both got a few suits draped over our left arms while we search the racks for more with our right hands.

"You should get one like this," I tease her back, holding up a fluorescent orange and raspberry red-purple, tie-dyed mess, complete with these funny little ruffle things on the hips.

It's late June, so it's not hot enough in Washington to swim outside yet, but we're going to Lauren's tomorrow. Her family lives in this huge apartment complex with an indoor pool and spa, and she invited Alice and I over for the day. Her mom said our families could come so we could all have lunch together, but Dad can't go because of work stuff. Alice's dad isn't going either, because of golf stuff. So it's going to be a mother-daughter kind of thing, which is okay with me because I'm excited to swim and see Alice.

Summertime is nice here. The sun comes out more often. It still rains a lot, but I like that it's not as hot as Phoenix. It's just right for dresses, and my jelly shoes never get hot and sticky feeling.

It's perfect for spending all day outside, sidewalk chalking and skateboarding.

Mom and Dad have let me stay the night at Alice's eleven more times since the first night. She comes over to my house, too. We see each other almost everyday, and when we don't, we talk on the phone. She's the coolest.

Mom and I make our way to the fitting rooms to try on our armfuls of suits. Some of them look funny because we still have our unders on underneath, but some of them are really cute.

Mom's all look pretty. She makes them pretty. My skin is soft and pale like hers, but she's tall and has little curves in just the right places.

I want to be pretty like her, but I don't have little curves anywhere. Not yet.

"I think that's the perfect one." Mom smiles at me in the mirror while I tie the top's strings into bows on my shoulders.

The suit is two pieces, but the top part covers my stomach like a tank. The bottoms have bows tied on the hips, but they're sewn to stay in place. They're both light yellow, like Alice's favorite ice-cream from the shop by her house, banana split yellow.

I smile up at Mom in her solid white and perfectly cinched one piece. She's more blonde, and I'm more strawberry, but we have the same marine-green-blue eyes, and the same freckles across our noses. We both get them on our chests and shoulders in the summertime—sun freckles.

"Yours too," I say, blowing her a kiss in the mirror.

Her smile lines make her eyes so happy-pretty.

We look like a couple of sweethearts.

Before we head to Alice's the next day, Mom straightens her hair even though we're going swimming. It doesn't make so much sense to me, but it makes her look even prettier than usual.

She seems kind of, sort of different when we're around Esme. Not nervous or bad, or anything, just different. She touches her hair a lot. She sort of fidgets with it, like she wants to be sure every strand is in place.

Esme opens the door smiling lighthearted after Mom rings the bell. I don't think she has any make-up on, but the woman has a sort of brightness. _Charisma_.

Another word I learned from Alice.

"C'mon in, give us just a minute. Alice is still getting ready."

I laugh a little to myself, shaking my head as I walk inside, looking around their living room for my friend.

I laugh because I know _still getting ready _means she can't find one of her shoes.

And _can't find one of her shoes_ means Edward's hidden it somewhere.

"Hi, Bliss, sorry my brother is making us late," she says, out of breath and exhaling the two key words in her greeting without stopping her search to even look up.

I go behind her and help look, trying not to smile at how kind of, sort of funny it all actually is.

There's no way of knowing for sure how it started exactly, but for way longer than I've known them, probably ever since Alice has been putting on her own shoes, Edward's been hiding one of them. Not every morning, but with unsurprising regularity, Alice spends a good fifteen to twenty minutes once or twice a week shoe searching while Edward sits back and smirks.

"Edward, give your sister her shoe," Esme calls from where she stands at the kitchen table, folding two beach towels down into a bag. Her nails are done, French tipped. I wonder if they'll be okay in the pool water because of the chlorine.

"She's got her shoe," he insists, sitting in the middle of the living room floor, pulling on one of his socks. His own two shoes are right next to him. "The other one is right where she left it."

With one torn up Chuck in her left hand, Alice turns the couch cushions upside down, searching for its match.

"That's the one you hid?" I ask, glancing from sister to brother.

"Yeah," he laughs and looks up, showing me his bright blue eyes and smile. He reaches for his other sock and pulls it on. "She found it fast. The other one's right where she took them off yesterday."

"Uggghhhh, Edward!" Alice grumbles, turning from the couch to one of the two huge chairs beside it. She's a mess of blonde hair and red cheeks.

He laughs harder under his breath, and I can't help my smile. It's maybe a little bit funny.

The doorbell rings again, and Edward jumps up with one shoe still untied as he lets in Petey and Ben.

I continue to look behind my friend, putting cushions and throw pillows back into place after she moves them left and right. Mom and Esme are in the kitchen talking, and it feels like there's a lot going on for a busy second, probably because Alice is getting flustered.

I stand up straight from where I bent down to pick up a pillow and toss it onto one of the two chairs, smoothing my hands down the front of my baby blue cover-up dress.

"Where are you guys going?" Petey asks, looking at me like I'm a pint-sized bother. "It's too cold for swimming."

Edward's crouched down tying his shoe. Ben's laughing, adjusting his backwards hat. Alice has moved to the dining room.

"Lauren's family has an indoor pool. Jealous?" I ask back, straightening my posture.

"Of hanging out with a bunch of girls and their moms?" He tugs the yellow bow on my left shoulder. "No, not really. We've got way better things to do."

I push his hand away, getting ready to tell him he'd probably just contaminate the water anyway, when Alice pops up from behind a bookshelf. Her hair is sticking to her forehead and her beautiful eyes are wide.

"Wait!" she shrieks.

We all turn toward her as she takes off toward the staircase, running up the steps as quickly as she can.

Mom and Esme, the three silly grinning boys across from me, and I are all silent for a beat, glancing back and forth at one other.

"Got it!" Alice calls triumphantly from her room.

Shoes on both her feet, pulling a Batman tee-shirt down over her navy one piece and board shorts, she promptly delivers a punch to Edward's arm when she's back downstairs.

"You hit like such a girl." He laughs, rubbing his hand over his bicep anyway. "It's not my fault you can't remember where you take your shoes off."

Alice rolls her sky-blue-baby-blues and takes my hand. "C'mon, Bliss. Let's get out of here before we catch something incurable, like ugly. Petey's contagious."

He starts to defend himself, but Esme holds her hand up, asking the boys to be good before she opens the door for us girls.

The boys nod. Edward tells us to have fun.

I can't imagine anything more fun than a day of swimming, or what "better things" they could have to do, but we go with our moms and leave the boys home alone.

The drive to Lauren's apartment complex isn't long. Alice and I sit in the back seat and talk about music videos, and when Esme turns on the radio, we giggle at the songs our mothers know all the words to.

Mom and Esme are friends despite being so physically and socially different. But they do share a lot of similarities, just like me and Alice. Mom's favorite Beatle is George. Esme's is Paul. I like Ringo because he makes funny faces, and Alice doesn't even pretend to know. We're all different, but we smile together.

Lauren and Leah are outside waiting for us when we get there. Lauren's suit looks almost like mine under her sundress cover up; she has bows on her shoulders, too. If mine's banana split, hers is cherry chip.

We take our covers off and hang out in the sauna, but it's only a few minutes before Alice is tired of sitting still. I'm glad because I really don't like sweating, even if it is good for your pores.

"I'm ready to go swimming, Mom," she asks more than tells. Even though it's worded like a statement, her voice goes up at the end.

We can hear Lauren and Leah outside the sauna door, laughing and splashing.

Esme nods with a smile, adjusting her towel under her arms.

Alice stands up, and I do too, looking at my mom to be sure.

"Behave yourself," Esme says, giving both of us an approving look.

"Love you." Mom smiles, shaking her pretty hair out around her face. It curls a little from the wet-heat, just like mine.

"Love you." I smile back, turning to follow Alice out to the pool.

There are windows everywhere around the pool area, letting sunshine and sky light inside. It's so bright, and it's nice being able to see so much of outside, but I know for a fact it's much warmer in here than it is out there.

Alice jump-flips off the diving board with a crazy splash.

I dip down the corner steps one at at time.

.

.

.

Dad's always on call for work, but he has today off since it's the Fourth of July. He's cooking and Mom is setting the small table on our back deck so we can eat outside.

It feels like a perfect day. I feel like I've had a lot of perfect days lately.

I missed school at first because I didn't get to see my friends everyday, but more and more, summertime's becoming my new favorite time.

Mom let Alice stay the night last night. She pinned my hair up so it would be curly-loose today, and Alice even let her do hers. She was too busy munching Muddy-Buddies and watching the Lords of Dog-town spin kick-flip-tricks to care too much.

When we looked in the mirror, while brushing our teeth before bed, she thought she'd made a silly decision letting us do her hair, but when we took the pins out this morning, she said _it's_ _cool_. She still pulled on jeans and a tee-shirt, but she liked how it looked.

We had breakfast together before meeting up with her family at the parade.

Our moms and dads sat and talked with the other parents. Edward walked around with Petey and Ben. Alice and I collected candy from the firemen, city representatives, and pretty secretaries that tossed it from their convertibles.

Alice threw jolly ranchers at Edward when he circled back around the block to where we were sitting. He caught the candies and pocketed them. When he came back around later, when we weren't looking, he tossed them one by one back at both of us.

When it was over, we got to walk around while our moms mingled with other moms and neighbors. Alice lit Black Cat Firecrackers with a punk Carlisle lit for us right before. I blew bubbles while she played with fire.

"Alright, baby, go wash your hands. I think everything's almost ready," Mom tells me as we set the silverware down on the napkins to keep them from blowing away.

It's nice eating outside in the sunshine together. I'm happy Dad doesn't have to be at work, and that he and Mom get to come to the boys' baseball game tonight. I've been to a few of Edward's other games with Alice, but there are going to be fireworks tonight. I'm so excited.

I wore a dress to the parade today, but I decide while Mom's getting ready for the game, that a romper will be better for sitting in the bleachers. I change into a cream colored one with tiny little violets printed all over it and buckle matching purple sandals around my ankles.

In her room, I sit down on the smaller chair next to Mom in front of her dressing table. I swirl her blush brush on my cheeks while she puts on mascara.

She dusts just a little shimmer-shadow on my eyelids when I ask if I can wear some too. A little is all it takes. I feel dainty-gorgeous.

Dad drives and I ride in the middle of the back seat. When we get there, it smells like dirt and grass all around, cotton candy and corn dogs.

Mom sits down with Esme, but Dad takes his time, talking with Leah's dad first, then Jasper's for a little while. He seems to like Carlisle, but I think he likes Harry and Mr. Hale better.

There's still some time before the game actually starts, and when Dad comes to sit down they let me leave to walk around with Alice. She's still in her tee-shirt and jeans from earlier, but she's added a hat. She didn't pull her wavy blonde curls up into a ponytail, though. She left them down.

I touch my own curls and smile to myself, loving that she maybe really did kind of like it.

She doesn't have her board, but she has glow in the dark bracelets and money from her mom for a funnel cake.

"Here, you can have the pink one," she tells me, plastic-buckle-popping the glow bracelet around my wrist while we wait in line at the concession stand.

I snap-clasp the neon green one on her, and she gives the blue one to Jasper when he comes up. He sits with us at our picnic table for a little bit while we eat but stands up when Garrett arrives.

Garrett says hi, but they don't stick around. Their dads are the ones setting up the fireworks tonight, so they get to help.

Our funnel cake is almost gone. I'm splitting the last piece of sticky, golden goodness with Alice, dabbing extra powdered sugar from my pinkie fingertip to my tongue when her brother calls her name from somewhere behind us.

White and navy-striped uniform buttoned up, Edward jogs through the crowd of grown-ups.

"What's up, super dork?" Alice asks as we both swing our legs over our bench seat to face him.

"Shut up, shrimp." He smiles back, approaching our table. "Look." He extends his right hand like he wants to give her something. She holds both of hers up for it. When he lets whatever he has go, she gasps and laughs so loud it catches me off guard.

I jump a little, but she holds what he's given her close to her chest while he sort of beams, kind of proudly.

"Hey, Isabella Bliss," he says, laughing and shaking his head as he looks from me to her. I'm not altogether sure what he's laughing at, but it's a sound that would be warm if sounds had temperatures. It's not cold like the laugh he has when he's embarrassing me. This is different. Better.

"Hi." I smile, trying to lean and look over Alice's shoulder at what she has.

"You might not want to—" he starts to say, but Alice interrupts him.

"Oh my gosh! This is so cool! Where did you find him?" She brings her hands up closer to her face, opening them slowly to inspect whatever she's so excited about.

"Down by the field." Edward leans forward, looking between his sister's fingers.

"What is it?" I ask, more curious, leaning more. But then I see it, and then I'm off the picnic bench fast, half behind Edward, half to his left.

My heart bounces between my stomach and the bottom of my throat for a second. They both laugh, though, and I kind of do, too. It sort of comes out of me in a little rush.

There's a lizard in my best friend's hands.

She's holding it, and while I'm not surprised she's holding it, it startled me.

"It's just a baby," Alice says in the closest thing to a cute voice I've ever heard her make. "It's more scared of you than you are of it."

She lets it crawl around her palm and fingers, to the top of her hand, toward her arm. She watches with overjoyed attention.

Edward looks behind himself, turning his hat around the right way, squinting against the setting sun. The game must be starting sometime soon; it's getting more crowded and people are moving from standing to sitting.

"I just wanted to show you. And maybe scare B a little," he says, chuckling when he looks at me, glancing from my eyes to my mouth. He smiles crooked, licking his lips. He focuses on Alice again. "You have to set it free," he tells her.

"I know," she nods, balancing the little green living thing on her wrist. It looks slightly less gross on her glow bracelet. It's kind of funny, actually.

Someone calls for Edward. He has to head back to his team.

After he turns and runs toward the baseball field, when he's not close enough to pluck the lizard from Alice's hand and toss it at me like I was secretly scared he might, I sit back down next to her. I even lean in to look a little closer. We giggle and point out the black spots down its back and watch it for a minute or two before she shrugs and sighs a happy sigh.

"C'mon," she says to the funny little thing, "let's get you back to your friends."

We stand together, and she nudges the lizard free at the edge of the grass a few feet away, while I toss our funnel cake plate into the garbage.

Alice covers her laugh with her right hand when we turn to face one another again. "Bella." She giggles. "Wipe the powdered sugar off your bottom lip!"

I bring my hand up right away, and sure enough, sticky white sugar comes off on the tips of my fingers.

She giggles while we walk back toward our parents, and I lick my lip, rubbing my mouth until my fingers come off clean. We climb a few bleachers up; I sit down next to my dad, and Alice sits next to me.

I remember Edward's laugh.

I feel my whole face heat up with embarrassment as the boys jog out onto the field, but it's easy to hide through all the cheering. I clap with my dad and Alice, and soon enough, thoughts about silly-boy laughter is all gone.

Alice and I don't pay a lot of attention to the game after that. We spend more time walking back and forth to the concession stand, getting suicide sodas and rolling our eyes at Kim and her friends. They have sunglasses on, but the sun has already set. They think they look cool, but they just look dumb.

We meet Leah on our walk back to the bleachers. She comes to sit with us.

The game goes by pretty quickly. We look up whenever the crowd gets noisy, like when Ben hits a home-run, or when Edward tags people out before they reach first base. Petey's the pitcher. I feel like I should clap with everyone when he strikes a batter out, but me and Alice just shake our heads and laugh. He's obnoxious, and he's got enough people cheering for him, anyway.

Edward's team wins, and they all go out to tag hands with the other team. Alice nudges my shoulder.

"Look! Look!" She points across the field, brushing her light blonde hair over her shoulder. The dark pink polish I painted on her nails a few days ago is already chipping. I follow her finger and look where she tells me to.

We can just barely see Jasper across the field with his dad and Garrett's.

"Fireworks!" I grin widely, turning eagerly toward Mom and Dad. They're holding hands between them. Mom's smile is lighting up her whole face.

I'm so excited that the few minutes it takes for all the boys to get off the field so the fireworks can start, feel like forever. Alice and I clap our hands, getting antsy.

I look around for Edward, expecting him to come and sit with us because, even though he usually hangs out with his friends, it's the Fourth of July and I think maybe he might. It's dark and crowded, though, and I can't see him anywhere.

The first deep-pop makes me jump. I feel the loud sound in my belly and look up just in time to see bright yellow-green sparks burst open in the black sky.

I clap with everyone, and the muffled _shhhhpop_ sounds that follow, faster now, don't startle me. More fireworks than I can count go shooting up into the nighttime, breaking open like big, huge flowers on fire, and they're so neat, so beautiful; I laugh.

Jasper and Garrett did a great job. I remind myself to tell them so the next time I see them.

Bigger, louder flashes pop open above us: red and purple, fluorescent blue, and dandelion yellow. I laugh, loving it so much it tickles my tummy. I can hear Mom and Alice laughing beside me. Between bright flashes, I glance down at the field, looking for Edward again.

I catch him this time, standing by the fence with Ben. Petey's behind them, looking up at the sky with Kim, who still has her sunglasses on. I look up just in time to see a super bright orange-starburst open up.

_Kim's missing out, _I think to myself.

I'm smiling so much I feel it in my cheeks when I look toward Edward again. Two more fireworks open up way above us, but I don't see them because I'm watching how the flecks of bluish-greenish light look on his face.

He smiles, and I smile higher than I already am.

Everyone claps when the fireworks display is all over. People start to move out toward the parking lot, but Dad is talking with Harry again, and Mom and Esme are still sitting in the bleachers. Edward is standing around with his friends, and I'm underneath the stands with Alice and Leah, who brought sparklers.

I twist the end of mine between my fingers. Mom bought sparklers last year, but Dad lit them. We don't have a way to light ours now, though.

"Here," Alice offers, tucking her hair behind her ear with one hand and extending her other for our sparklers. "I'll take them to my dad."

"Here, no. I've got it." Edward digs into his pocket with his right hand as he approaches us.

One by one, he sets little fires to the magenta-paper-wrapped ends of all our sparklers.

I wonder where he got a lighter, why he has it, and what he uses it for, but no one asks. When he sets fire to the end of my sparkler, I don't ask either. I just tell him thank you.

The small fire sparks burn pink. Alice and Leah write their names with theirs. I write Bliss because Isabella is way too long.

Edward stands back smiling, and it takes a minute, but Petey and Ben come over and watch, too.

Pink sparks burn into gold and we draw sparkling swirls together. I spin around Alice, and Leah spins around me. We make bright yellow circles together. I can see the glittery light on Leah's cheeks, and Alice is laughing so hard she's infectious.

I glance toward Kim, who is standing beside Petey, out of the corner of my eye. She's the only one not smiling, but I'm so happy I can't even begin to care. I swirl gigantic loops through the air one way, then the other, then back again.

Gold sparks burn into neon blue. I can feel the heat of my sparkler burning closer to my fingers, but I scoot my hand down a little. I draw more glowing flower shapes and smile higher, laughing so hard I feel it in my stomach.

Alice laughs loud too. But when she screams, I turn just in time to see Leah helping her shake fading sparks out of her hair. My heart skips a nervous beat, but she's smiling fine, more than alright.

"I'm okay, I'm okay!" She keeps laughing, keeps swirling, keeps sparkler-dancing.

I draw her a heart. She draws an arrow. Puffing her cheeks, Alice blows, like she's shooting her super gladness through it. Straight to me.

I feel it in my real heart.

Sapphire blue and gold light flecks burn to minty bright green. I twirl the little light around myself, painting the air with sparkles, never wanting it to burn out.

.

.

.

When the Forth of July night ended, and after I hugged my parents goodbye, Alice asked if I was coming over on the 14th, too.

"That's ten days away," I told her, confused as we got into her parents car. Edward was staying the night at Petey's, so we had the whole backseat to ourselves.

"I know, but my mom's getting blackberry cream cake from Mrs Goff's for Edward's birthday. It's his favorite, and it's so good."

I nodded, buckling my seat belt. Blackberry cream cake did sound good.

"Shouldn't Edward invite me? It's his birthday party," I asked, remembering to mind my manners.

Alice kind of laughed, and Esme turned around from the passenger seat.

"You know you're more than welcome anytime, Bella. Of course you're invited," she told me with a sweet smile and kind eyes. She laughed a little then, tapping Alice's knee to remind her of her seat belt. "But good luck getting Edward to share that cake with either one of you."

I agreed to be there, even though Edward hadn't invited me himself until just yesterday―

"You're coming over tomorrow, right?" he asked, crouching down to pick up a piece of my chalk.

I was drawing different colored daisies on the sidewalk down the street from their house while Alice and Jasper took turns practicing tricks on her skateboard. I stopped filling in periwinkle petals and looked up at him when he started drawing a single green line next to my bouquet.

"It's my birthday," he told me quietly, grinning and curving a green three next to the single line.

_Thirteen._

Officially a teenager.

Crazy.

"Sure," I shrugged, smiling back.

Who wants to miss a birthday party?

I already asked my mom after Alice asked me, and now today's the day.

We're on our way to their house right now.

I'm wearing my favorite plaid print dress. It's got cap sleeves and buttons and pockets. I love the pockets. Mom's got on a dress with buttons and pockets, but hers is an ivory color. She curled her hair after she did mine, so we both look pretty; her especially. We painted our nails together last night, too.

We went shopping in Port Angeles for Edward's gift a few days ago. I had no idea what to get him. I don't know what boys like, but Mom had a great idea.

The mall has a special sports store with about a million hats along all the walls. Nice ones that don't have the plastic buckle things in the back. We got him a navy and white New York Yankees cap, which I thought he might like because he has another one he wears sometimes.

Truthfully, I'm more excited to give Alice the tee-shirt we found for her at the store next door. I know it's not her birthday, but when I saw the black shirt in the window that said "I heart Danny Way" in pink letters, I remembered the story she told me about him jumping the Great Wall of China, and I knew we had to get it for her.

It's just a short drive from our house to theirs, but by the time we get there, I'm bouncing with excitement to see Alice's face when she sees her gift. I'm outside the car, straightening my dress out while Mom's checking her face in the rear-view mirror.

"C'mon, c'mon," I tell her, coming around to open her door.

"Alright, alright." She laughs through her smile, making me smile too.

She carries Edward's gift bag, and I carry Alice's.

It's my best friend that opens the door when we ring the bell. She's out of breath and her cheeks are flushed, but she's got the happiest look on her face.

"You're here! C'mon, come inside. The boys are in the back room playing Wii. Dad got Edward this boxing game and it's so cool. I don't know if you'll like it, but it's fun. Then, Petey said girls didn't know how to play. So, I had to show him I could fight way better than he could―"

Alice is going ninety miles a minute as she lets us inside, and I'm just laughing. I turn around to smile at Mom, letting her know without words that I'm going to follow Alice while she hangs out with the grown-ups.

She gives me a wink, and I turn back around to keep following Alice through to the kitchen.

"So, it took me two tries, but of course, Petey was a sore loser-face when I finally kicked his butt. There's cake if you want some," she tells me, pointing toward the counter.

I look to where she points and the vanilla frosted cake is already cut and almost half gone. I can see the sticky sweet dark blue lines of blackberry goodness between the layers. I do want some, but I don't understand. I know we're not late. We're right on time.

Did they already sing Happy Birthday?

"What's in your bag?" Alice asks, sitting down in a kitchen chair with a drink of water.

"Oh, here." I remember I'm still holding her present. "This is for you."

She smiles a smile that matches her brother's as she opens it. I can hear him laughing with his friends in the back room.

"Ahhh, this is so cool! I love it! And it's not even my birthday! Mom, come check it out!"

Alice holds the shirt up and beams from ear to ear. She sets it down so she can pull her other tee-shirt over her head, leaving her in just a tank top for a second before she pulls the new one on. She tucks the front of it in like a boy and pulls her hair out from under the collar, pushing her bangs back off her forehead.

"It's so awesome! Thanks, Bliss!"

She pulls me into a hug; she smells like birthday cake, and girl sweat, and new clothes that haven't even been washed yet.

"You're welcome," I tell her, hugging her back. "I'm so glad you like it."

"Like what?" Edward asks, coming into the kitchen followed by Petey. Ben and his other friends aren't even here yet; I knew we weren't late.

"This sweet new shirt that B got for me." Alice turns to show and tell him. "It's way cooler than any of yours."

He glances between us; his sky-blues just as happy as his sister's.

"Yeah right. Nothing you have is cooler than anything I have," he teases, swiping his finger along the corner of his cake, bringing it to his lips. He's got his shoes off and his socks on under some basketball shorts and a tee-shirt. He looks a little flushed, but not as much as Alice. "It isn't even your birthday." He smiles, taking another swipe of icing and aiming to dot it on her nose.

Alice ducks, ready to say something, but the doorbell rings, and Esme calls for Edward to answer it before the frosting touches her face.

Staying the night at Alice's is fun when it's just us two. It's also fun when Edward's there and it's the three of us. It's even fun most of the time when his friends are over and it's the five of us, but today, it's just plain crazy.

In less than an hour, Alice and Edward's house is full of people. Grown-ups start filling up the kitchen, so we go to the back room, but there are more boys there than I can count.

Okay, maybe not more than I can count, maybe more like ten or eleven, but still, a lot of seventh and eighth grade boys in one room.

Alice doesn't look as weirded-out as I feel, but she's making a scrunched up face just watching them all come in, like they're bugs infiltrating her cool-zone. Like she needs wet wipes and anti-bacterial stuff.

Her disgusted look kind of makes me giggle. It's funny to see tom-boy-tough Ally grossed out by something. She holds lizards!

But the more boys that show up, my face starts to scrunch up too. I recognize some of them from school, and others from his baseball team, but Edward's the only boy in the whole room even halfway worth hanging out with, and it's his party. He's happily surrounded.

They're all just standing around waiting to play the game, being boys. They aren't paying us any attention anyway, which is more than fine with me. Attention usually means having to stick up for myself, and I do it, but I hate having to just because I'm a girl and I like pretty things.

And I probably shouldn't be in a room full of boys anyway. Dad wouldn't be happy, and Mom's probably wondering where I am.

Plus, they stink.

Lots of reasons to tap Alice's shoulder and lean closer to her ear and whisper, "Boys are gross. Wanna grab your board and go outside?"

"Heck yes, I do." She nods, not even bothering to whisper, which makes me laugh. Which makes her laugh.

We hold hands and stand up together from the chair we're sharing. Alice goes first, leading the way through the crowd of tall and smellies. Petey nudges her shoulder when we're almost to the kitchen. Not hard, just obnoxious.

She nudges him harder, pushing forward and tugging me, laughing a little. "Ugghh, move back, bugs!"

When we get into the kitchen, it's like a different world. Mom and Carlisle smile at us from across the room, and we ditch going outside for cake when Esme asks if we want some.

All the grown-ups are standing, so we sit down at the table together, and Alice was right, blackberry cream cake is so good. Esme pours us glasses of white milk, and I'm glad Edward isn't around to steal it like he used to at school; it makes the cake taste even better.

Eventually, we grab Alice's board and head outside. I walk up and down the sidewalk and smell the gladiolus that line the edge of her mom's yard while Ally skates back and forth.

Birthdays are different here than they are with with my family. On birthdays at home, Gramma and Grampa would come over, and on mine, just a few girls from school. We would light candles and sing Happy Birthday, even on Mom's and Dad's, and they're adults.

There are no candle holes in the cake, or anyone old enough here to be Edward's grandparents.

There is punch with juice and sherbert, though. We do that, too.

When Mom calls Alice and I inside, no one sings to the birthday boy, but we do watch him open his presents.

He smiles so high and when he opens mine. His boys can't even make fun of the fact he got a present from a princess because the hat is just that cool. He puts it right on.

"Still not as cool as my shirt," Alice informs him from a few dining room table seats away.

Edward just laughs, letting her have it. He gets her back a couple hours later, though. When it's just the five of us again, and everyone has left, he finally dots her nose with frosting.

.

.

.

July sunshined into August.

Alice and I practically spent the whole summer together. Mom called us an inseparable duo.

At the park, I sat on the slide in the sun-light and tiny-tied white impatiens together while she played soccer with the boys. I made two crowns the first time, but she wanted a necklace, so I made hers longer.

At her house, I hopscotched on the sidewalk and made friendship bracelets while she practiced on her skateboard. We went for walks to The Blue Marble ice-cream shop and looked at the puppies at the pet store. Carlisle normally brought pizza or Chinese take-out home with him and Edward when they returned from baseball practice at night, and we stayed up late watching movies together.

In the mornings, we usually grabbed breakfast for ourselves, still in our pajamas. Alice liked Fruit Loops, and I liked Cheerios with a little sugar on top. Sometimes, if Edward wasn't sleeping in, he'd sit down with us in his pajamas, too. He also liked Cheerios, but no sugar on top.

Esme baked cinnamon rolls or French toast sometimes. The first day she scrambled eggs for us, I didn't know what to say. I knew it was polite to eat what was on my plate, but I didn't like scrambled eggs. They hurt my stomach.

I took teeny tiny bites onto my fork, trying to be respectful.

"You don't have to eat them if you don't like them," Alice told me, dipping her forkful of fluffy yellow eggs into ketchup.

Edward looked up from across the table, and Esme turned around from the counter.

I felt nervous. I didn't want her to think I didn't like what she cooked.

She smiled warmly, though.

"It's alright, sweetie," she said, taking a drink of her coffee. "Carlisle doesn't like eggs either. They give him heartburn."

"Me**,** too. Well, just when they're scrambled," I explained, more at ease. "They give me a tummy ache."

Edward rested his fork on the side of his plate and set his sky blues right on me, so curiously.

_Don't you call me a picky princess_, I thought. _Don't you dare do it._

"So, how do you like your eggs, Bella Bliss?" he asked instead.

I smiled thankfully; my feet bumped Alice's since we were both swinging them under the table.

"Sunny side up," I told him, reaching for my glass of white milk.

Alice smiled and gulped down a drink of her chocolate. Esme was happy to make me two fresh eggs and toast. And Edward called me _sunny side_ all day.

When we weren't at Alice's house, our moms took us to the arcade while they went to the movies. She taught me how to play pinball and air hockey, and when we got home, I taught her how to braid. She let me twist a skinny little one on the left side of her hair that stayed in three days, two washes, before I convinced her to let me comb it out.

An odd couple and an inseparable duo. That's us.

.

.

.

August went by just as fast as July.

I stayed the night with Alice Saturday, but since school starts this morning, I had to stay at my house last night, and she had to stay at hers.

Today's the first day of sixth grade and I'm all butterflies.

Cherry pop-tart in hand, I'm walking around the kitchen, looking out the windows because I can't sit still.

"Have a good day." Dad kisses my forehead and hugs Mom. I'm not usually awake to see him before work, but I wanted up extra early so that Mom could help me with my hair.

I put on my new lavender dress and white sandals that I got when we went back to school shopping. I pull my hair up high into a ponytail and Mom curls it beautiful.

I can't wait to see Alice, and Lauren, and Leah, and meet my new teachers. We get lockers this year, too. I'm nervous about using one, in case I won't be able to get the combination figured out, but Ally told me not to worry. If I need to, I can use hers.

Mom and I sing Yellow Submarine when it comes on the radio in the car, and she gives me a hug before I get out.

"I love you, sweetheart," she tells the top of my head.

"I love you**,** too," I tell her shoulder.

I'm not near as nervous this year. I get right out and stand outside with Lauren. She has on a dress too, and a ribbon tied in her hair.

Edward's in junior high now, so it's just Alice that gets out of Esme's car right before the bell rings. I barely get to talk to her at all before we have to go inside.

We have lunch together, though, and we sit outside because it's nice. She's got new clothes on, too, and brand new black and white Chucks on her feet.

I'm eating my banana bite by broken-off bite on the concrete steps and she's next to me with one of her shoes off. Jasper is next to her; he's got one of his off too. They traded one shoelace each, her new white one for one of his checkered ones, and are re-lacing them.

"They just look so ... clean." Alice laughs, tapping the toes together. She's right, compared to her last ones, they're perfect. "Here―" She pulls a sharpie from her pocket and takes off her other shoe. "Write on it."

She hands me the brand new, duct-tape free Chuck Taylor, and I set my banana down to take it.

I don't know what to write. What do you write on someone's shoe?

I turn the Chuck around in my hands. A minute ago, I thought they were perfectly clean, but there's already writing on the outside left, along the bottom.

It's in skinny sharpie too, boy handwriting, which could very well be hers. It says something about watching out for bed knobs.

"What's this mean?" I ask, looking over at Ally.

She laughs, tucking her hair being her ear.

"I got a new bed when I was six, and even though we weren't supposed to, Edward and I were jumping on it because he started it, and my foot slipped. I fell off the bed and cut my face open on the corner of it, right by my eye."

She points to the little scar below her temple. The thought of her falling like that makes my stomach hurt.

"I got six stitches, but I barely remember it." She shrugs, pulling her re-laced shoe back on. "I do remember Edward got in big trouble for it, though. He was supposed to know better because he's older. So now, whenever I'm about to do something silly, or really cool, he tells me to watch out for bed knobs, even if there's not one a mile in sight."

My best friend is the toughest person I know. She almost cracked her head open and she tells it like it's nothing. I decide right then and there that there isn't a boy in the world who has anything on Alice Cullen.

"That's crazy," I tell her, looking down at her shoe in my lap.

It's a scary memory. She could have died even, but the last part of the story makes me smile—the part about Edward telling her to watch out. It's like this inside-code kind of way of him caring about her.

I want inside-code-secrets, too.

I uncap the sharpie and start by drawing a little heart. Then, slowly and carefully, because it's hard to write on the edge of a shoe, I write _I love __you like banana popsicles __b_ecause it's the first day of school, and I love my invincible best friend like bad breakfast choices that brought us together.

.

.

.

August cooled down into September, and September rained into October.

Sixth grade is easy and more fun than fifth. I only get to stay the night with Alice on the weekends, but getting to see her and everyone else, every day again is nice.

Since Edward and his friends are in a different school now, I only see them on the weekends, when I stay over at Alice's.

This weekend is a little different though.

Tomorrow is my birthday.

So, even though today is Friday, and I would usually be going over there to stay, she's coming to my house instead.

I gave out invitations to the girls at school last week, and Mom took me to the same store Esme got Edward's cake at, to see if I wanted any of those. They all looked really good, but I decided I liked her cupcakes better. Getting to help her make them is one of the funnest parts of having a birthday, and this year, she said Alice could come over to help.

After school Alice cracks all the eggs while I sprinkle the sugar in slowly. Mom mixes everything and pours it into the special cupcake tins.

We mix up meringue frosting and put just a tiny drop of red food coloring in to make it pink. Mom fills two bags with it and cuts the tips so that when we pipe the cakes, they look fancy. When we get to the part where she uses the kitchen torch to just barely toast the tips of all of them, Alice asks if she can help with that part too.

I'm not interested in handling the torch. Mom stands behind Alice, though, placing a hand over hers, showing her how to do it carefully, so just the tips of the meringue turn dark gold.

She gets the hang of it, and after a few minutes, there's a whole platter of pretty little angel food cakelets.

Mom and Dad read and relax on the couch while Alice and I color velvet posters and sort of watch movies.

We sleep in the next day, but not too late. I'm up and excited—we both are. I put on my white dress that has a red ribbon sash and red tulle underneath. Mom got me shiny red Mary Janes to match; I buckle them over my white stockings.

Alice puts on jeans and a red hoodie over her white tee-shirt. We almost kind of match.

I pull my hair into two low pigtails over my shoulders, and Mom ties red ribbons in them. Alice asks me to put a skinny braid in her hair like I did over the summer.

We have breakfast at the table together, and Mom lets me open one gift before anyone else gets here.

It's a little white box with a silver bangle bracelet inside, which has a small strawberries along the top of it. I love it, and it matches my birthday dress, so I slip it right on.

Gramma and Grampa call, and talking to them makes me miss Phoenix, but just for a little bit.

I help Alice fill up goodie bags with candy and party favors, and Mom takes the angel food cakes out of the fridge. Dad only had to go into work for a few hours. He gets home just a few minutes before Leah shows up.

Lauren comes over, and Angela, and Chelsea, and some other girls I've made friends with this year. No scandalous Kim. And no obnoxious boys.

At least, until about an hour later, when Esme shows up outside and Edward gets out of the backseat with Petey right behind him.

Alice and I answer the door with my mom. The grown-ups head inside while me and Ally lean in the door jamb.

"What are you guys doing here?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. "Mom wouldn't let you stay home alone after the other day?"

Their parents aren't one hundred percent sure, but Alice told me that Esme thinks Edward and his friends were sneaking alcohol from Carlisle's liquor cabinet last week.

Edward just glances at Alice like it's nothing. He looks at me, and Petey looks at him.

I cross my arms like Alice. The soft chiffon of my dress tickles my skin. The October breeze is chilly.

Edward's eyes look even blue-er in the sunshine; he smiles his smile at me.

"It's your birthday, B, so it's your choice. Are you going to let us inside?"

It's kind of nice that he actually has a considerate side.

I start to smile, but hold back, looking between him and his less pleasant friend, and back to Alice before I look at Edward again.

"No princess jokes," I tell him.

He laughs under his breath but nods.

I look to Petey, waiting for him to nod too. I can tell he doesn't want to, but it's not my fault they have to be here, and nobody wants to be stuck outside when everyone else is inside. So finally, he nods his head, too.

They don't eat any of the cupcakes, but they do drink some punch. They hang out in the back of the kitchen in their hoodies, Petey in black and Edward in gray, while I open my presents.

Alice sits right beside me and eats a second cupcake while I finish the last of my gift bags and boxes. When I finish, and there's a mess of ribbons and tissue paper all around, Mom tells me there's one last surprise gift waiting for me in my room.

I raise an eyebrow, just as confused as I am excited because I was just up there with Alice this morning and I didn't see any surprise.

"Go on up," she tells me with one of her brightest smiles.

I go first, with Alice and the other girls close behind, up the stairs. My door is pulled almost all the way closed, but not quite, and when I nudge it open, I can't believe my eyes.

Along the far wall, next to the window so that natural light can come in when I sit down on the bench, is a dressing table of my own. It's just like Mom's except a little bit smaller and the wood is painted white. There's a big mirror and little brass handles on the drawers, and I love it so much.

"Oh my gosh, Mom! Dad!" I turn around to giggle out my thanks. They're standing in the doorway. She's so happy she's shining. Dad's smiling too, but it's a _Dad_ kind of smile. The kind where he maybe doesn't want me to be growing up so much yet, but he built it just for me anyway, because he loves me.

The other girls in my room scope it out while I give Mom and Dad both tight hugs. They rejoin the other parents downstairs, and I make my way to the the table. There's a new brush and comb, barrettes and headbands, and even a little make-up. A set of small brushes and two eye-shadow compacts with six soft hues between shimmery white and pale pink. There are a few new Bonne Bell Lip-smackers and a bottle of Love's Baby Soft perfume.

"Such a girl." Alice smiles, shaking her head at me.

Lauren giggles, twirling one of the make-up brushes between her fingers. She glances at me, then to Alice, then back to me. Leah giggles too and I know just what they're thinking.

"So are you," I tell my best friend, giving her a playful look and picking up one of the lip glosses.

"Nuh-uh." She shakes her head quickly, taking a step back.

We both laugh, but I don't press her. She flips through my books and tells us about crazy world records while I give everyone dusty shimmers of pastel shadow. Lauren asks if she can do mine and when she's finished, Leah lets me brush her long, long hair.

When we're all polished, and when Alice has turned to the back of the Guinness book, I put everything back in its place and we head back downstairs all together.

The moms are in the dining room, drinking coffee. I look around as I make my way to mine, batting my eyelashes and pursing my lips to show her.

"Very beautiful." Esme smiles next to Mom, looking at me while she hugs Alice and blows a raspberry on her cheek.

"Gross, Mom. Cut it out!" Ally laughs, pushing away from her.

"Always beautiful," Mom tells me as I lean in for an Eskimo kiss.

I look around when I stand up straight again, smoothing out the bottom of my dress.

"Where's Dad?"

"In the back room with Edward and Petey. They looked kind of bored when you guys when upstairs, so he hooked up the old Nintendo."

"Mario?" I ask, my smile turning up. Dad taught me how to play it forever ago, but I haven't even thought about it since we moved here.

She nods and I peek around the corner with Alice. Sure enough, the three of them are sitting on the carpet. Edward and Petey have controllers in their hands and are laughing. Dad's relaxed, watching and waiting for his turn.

I don't know why seeing him here in my house makes me giggle, but it does.

We all hang out a little bit longer, but when the sun starts to set, my friends start to say goodbye. One by one, I hand out pretty tied candy bags and extra angel-food cupcakes, thanking everyone.

My best friend is the last to leave.

Esme gives me a hug, and I thank her for the earrings and necklace she and Carlisle got for me. Alice pulls her backpack onto her back and then slides it right back off again.

"I almost forgot!" She unzips the front pocket and fishes around for a minute before pulling out a skinny clearish-purple CD case. I can see the sharpie writing through the cover.

Birthday Bliss Mix

"Happy special day, birthday girl." She smiles high, giving me a monumental hug.

I squeeze her tight, glancing at Petey as he walks past me in my peripheral vision. Alice nudges him and he nudges her back, waving at me over his shoulder.

"Happy birthday," he says, like he's so cool. But I think it's the nicest thing he's ever said to me.

I rock from my toes to my heels, and back again, turning around just in time to see Edward coming. He zips his hoodie up and shows me his smile.

"Thanks for letting me crash your party," he says, holding his hand up.

I'm confused for about half a second before I realize what he's waiting for.

Mix CD in my left hand, I raise my right and he gives me a birthday high-five.

"Happy birthday, sunny side."


	4. Feel The Tide Turning

**We do not own Twilight; we only screw up their lives. Special thanks to Led Zeppelin and Hayley Williams and her castles.**

**Trust me when I say these kids grow up fast, and when they do, you'll miss the good ol' days. You should have savored that sweetness. **

**LovelyBrutal is our Beta.**

**Mumford and Sons - Feel The Tide Turning**: _"You and I now, though it's cold inside, can feel the tide turning."_

**Dusty**

**Chapter 3 — Bliss**

"I don't know why she buys me this shit." Alice, who is a little less than delighted, tosses a pile of brand new clothes across the room. "I mean, do I look like the type of girl, Bliss. Do I?"

I smile and shake my head, blowing on my wet nails. "She's just trying to be nice, Alice. You don't have to cuss." Using the corner of my thumb nail, I clean excess color off of my skin.

"You don't understand," Alice mumbles.

I think about sprinkling some glitter over the damp pink polish before saying, "What's there to understand?"

Alice huffs and groans, throwing more clothes across the room. It's Friday and we just got out of school, and I'm staying over the Cullens' home until Sunday night. My mom and dad took the weekend off, deciding to actually celebrate their wedding anniversary this year. They've been married for fifteen years and not once have they gone on a vacation, or "mini-trip" as Mom put it.

Dad wasn't sold on the idea of me being under the care of non-family members for an entire two nights, but he got over it. Sometimes I don't know what his deal is, but I'm not convinced that he likes Carlisle, and I know for a fact that he fights some inner battle regarding Edward.

He doesn't understand that Edward is just Edward. He's a boy. He's like a brother to me.

_Boys are scary and threatening, right?_

"You're too young to understand, Bliss," he'll say. "You can't trust a teenager's intention, Bella," he'll argue.

Dads will do that, though.

So will Moms, apparently. When we got home from school today, we found a stack of clothes folded on Alice's bed, courtesy of her mother. I was excited, running my fingers over the lacy-lace and silky-silk, cottony-cotton. Alice, on the other hand, threw a temper tantrum. One she is still currently pitching.

None of the clothes Esme bought are exactly Alice's style. But if there is one thing I have learned in the year I've known Esme, it's that she wishes her only daughter was more like me and less like … well, Alice. She forces the pinks, and the bows, and the jellies on Alice, but Ally isn't a push-over and she does what she wants. Her closet is full of clothes with the tags still attached. She has boxes and boxes of shoes that will never be worn, and even though Esme notices, she continues to buy more.

It's ironic, really. I mean, if the tide was turned, I'd be one happy daughter.

"Do you want this stuff, Bliss?" Alice holds up a light pink sundress. "Because, I'll never wear any of it, and _she_"—Alice spits—"won't take any of it back."

I touch the surface of my nails to feel if they're dry. Once I'm happy that they won't smudge, I set my hands in my lap and give Alice a pouty lip. "I can't take your new clothes, Ally."

I wish I could, though. They're super cute.

Alice nibbles on her bottom lip before blowing her over-grown bangs out of her eyes. "Sure you can, just take them home. Tell your pops I let you borrow them or something. Tell him I got them for your birthday." Alice takes the dozen or so shirts, and the four or five dresses, and drops them onto my overnight bag. "There, now they're yours."

"I can't take your clothes, Alice. And my birthday was five months ago." My tone is less convincing; I don't go without at home, and if I ever need anything all I have to do is ask, but my parents can't afford to get me _these _dresses and _these_ shirts. I want them, of course.

"Bella..." Alice rolls her eyes, beginning to speak, but she's cut off when a door from down the hall slams shut, shaking the picture frames on the wall. Alice and I jump, and Alice sing-songs, "Edward's home."

"What's wrong with him?" I ask, slowly removing Alice's new, discarded clothes from my bag.

She quickly re-discards them, dropping them back onto my bag. "Hormones," Alice says with a shrug.

"Hormones?" I raise an eyebrow, fighting the giggle-fits.

Alice groans, frustrated with me. She takes the clothes, opens my bag, and shoves them inside, leaving me with no other choice than to take them home. But let's face it, it's a battle I lose willingly. If I can get my dad to believe that I'm only "borrowing" the clothes, I'll be the best dressed sixth grader at Forks Elementary School.

"Mom says that Edward has _teenage boy hormones_; something about growing hair in odd places and extra misplaced testosterone. Whatever, it's why he's always grumpy."

I think about it for a moment, and say, "Does that mean that Petey and Ben are suffering from hormones, too?" Edward is always grouchy, but so are his friends. I'm used to a little bit of attitude, but lately the boys have been more edgy. You can't ask them to do anything without receiving a dirty look or an ice cold shoulder. Edward talks back to his parents and he's always slamming doors: the car doors, the bedroom doors, the sliding glass doors.

Alice scoffs. "God, yes."

"How long does it last?" I ask, totally stunned and totally hoping that Edward doesn't grow hair on his knuckles like Mr. Winkermeyer, my art teacher at school.

"At least through the seventh grade," Alice answers matter-of-factually.

My eyes open widely. "So you mean Edward is going to be grumpy for another four months?"

Alice nods. "At least."

"Do you want to go ask why he's in a bad mood?"

"No, not really." Alice zips closed my bag and shoves it to the side where I cannot reach it. "But we can." She grabs my hand and leads me out of the bedroom.

Once we're in the hall, I can hear Esme down in the kitchen. Her heels tap on the tiled floor; she's on the phone, complaining about Edward. All I hear is, _fucking Edward and his fucking mouth_, before his bedroom stereo turns on, drowning out his mother's conversation.

"He probably got in trouble at baseball practice again." Alice sighs, pushing open his bedroom door.

I've been in Edward's room before. I stay with Alice all of the time, and even though my dad would be upset to learn that sometimes we hang out with Edward, Petey, and Ben behind closed doors, I do it anyway. If Carlisle and Esme trust us, then my parents should too.

Edward is standing in front of his dresser where his CD player is set. Alice is right, he was at baseball practice. With his hat on backwards and his baseball pants hung low, Edward shuffles through his CDs looking for something different to listen to. He doesn't notice that Ally and I have entered his personal space. I was kind of hoping he would, because his hormones make him really unpredictable and I don't want him to be upset we're here uninvited.

I sit on the edge of his bed and wait for him to turn around. Edward is mumbling to himself, spinning his hat on his head so that the bill faces forward. He switches the CD and turns the music up before flipping his hat back around and turning toward us.

He doesn't even flinch. "Hey, Bliss," he mutters, taking his hat off completely, throwing it on his computer desk. "What do you want, Alice?"

The front of his baseball uniform is covered in orange clay-dust and his lip is busted. Alice laughs, but I'm a little more concerned. I don't say anything, but I examine him from cleat to hat-hair. His knuckles are red and swollen, but beside the busted lip and dirty clothes, he seems to be fine.

Grumpy, but fine.

"What happened to you?" Alice asks, flipping through a magazine that was set on his night stand. She lies back on his pillows, putting her dirty chucks on his blanket.

Edward pulls off his shirt and tosses it in the direction of his laundry hamper. I try not to look at him, but he's in a white tank, making it hard not to.

"I had a misunderstanding with that Felix kid." He smirks, pulling out his computer chair and sitting down. Edward runs his hands through his hair before flipping a lighter into the air and catching it. "He's an asshole," he says lowly.

By now I'm used to his language—it's an Edward thing.

"Mom's pissed," Alice says with a nonchalant shrug. "She's telling Dad."

"So the fuck what." Edward spins his chair around in circles, tossing and catching the lighter. I don't know when it happened, or if teenage boy hormones are to blame, but Edward grew up. He's taller and leaner, and growing daily. His face isn't soft, it's punitive. His eyes have darkened … his voice has deepened. He carries himself differently, higher and stronger. He's too old for his age.

Esme says Edward is thirteen going on twenty-one.

"Are you staying the night, Bliss?" Edward asks, catching me off guard. I wasn't paying attention to the sibling conversation; I was lost in thought.

_When did Edward become so much older than me?_

"Yeah," I say, shaking my head … watching, wondering.

Edward nods, juggling the lighter between his fingers. "That's cool. That beach party is tonight, Mom wants us to go."

"Yeah, I know." Alice rolls her eyes. "She told me earlier. I guess Dad's firm is donating some money to the rec center. Which is nice, but they're a bunch of asshole lawyers if you want my opinion."

Edward is looking at me, but I can't figure out why. He looks at my hands, my elbows, my knees and my bare feet. I lift my legs up on to his bed and hide my toes beneath his blanket. I play with my anklet and lay my head on my knees. I don't blush.

"I should probably get dressed. I need to be the good child tonight." Edward stands up and Alice drops the magazine back onto the night stand.

He's still looking at me. I have to pass him in order to leave the room. I twist my heart shaped pinky-ring around my finger and keep my eyes to myself as I move past Edward. I'm not surprised when he reaches out and touches a lock of my hair. He does this some of the time. He twists the strawberry blonde strands around his finger and laughs. "See ya, pretty-pretty."

I stand up straight, set in front of the door, in front of Edward. Alice reaches her room, and I wait for her to go inside before I speak. "Why did you get in a fight?"

It's not the first. Hormones have made Edward foolishly impatient.

He plays with his door handle, releasing my hair. "Boy stuff," he says.

"Boy stuff like what?" I ask, studying his form. He doesn't make me nervous like he used to. He doesn't make me anything but curious. "Did he take your ball or something?"

Edward laughs out loud, and I can see all of his teeth. Sometimes, when Edward laughs, he'll cover his mouth with his hand, but not right now. Right now he's genuinely laughing, and it's uplifting. It's been a while since I've seen him honestly laugh. In front of his friends, he's always so bossy and full of attitude. They do whatever he wants; Petey and Ben are his little cronies, and Edward sets the mood; if he's happy then they're happy; if he's upset, then they're upset. They've been a lot to handle, but this—this teeth showing laughter is worth it, and all it took was a ball. Kind of, sort of.

"No, Bliss, he didn't take my ball."

I smile, wishing he would do it again—laugh. "Then what happened?" I ask, leaning back against the door jamb, crossing my ankles.

His daunting crystal-blue eyes are back on me. A smirk left over from his laughter crosses his face. His cheeks are slightly red and he's back to juggling the door handle. "I got in a fight over a girl."

I giggle because, _what_? I stand up straight and wait for the rest of his explanation. Boyfriends and girlfriends are nothing new to me. At school I see couples hold hands and kiss all of the time. It's not allowed, but it happens. I know that Jasper Hale wants Alice to be his girlfriend; he asks her often. And I know Alice wants Jasper Hale to be her guy, but she constantly tells him no.

Why? Because she's Alice.

I've heard Petey talk about girls at their new school. Edward has never joined the conversation, but from what Petey has mentioned, the eighth grade girls are prettier than the ones in their own grade. He says they're prettier than the ones they went to school with in the sixth.

I heard a rumor that Petey kissed Kim once.

But I've never, not ever, heard of anything like this about Edward. He never talks about pretty eighth-grade girls, or kissing, or holding hands. So yeah, this is kind of shocking.

"There is this new girl in school, Victoria," he continues.

I scoff. Edward laughs again. But not like before. He rushes with the rest of the details. "Felix likes her, but she likes me, and we got into a fight about it at baseball practice. That's all."

"Do you like her?" I ask, wondering a little more. This is an untouched side of Edward.

"What?" He chuckles, running a nervous hand through his wrecked hair. "I don't know. Maybe. I mean, she's pretty."

I suck in a slow breath. "You think she's pretty?"

Edward walks away from me, back toward his dresser. The song has changed and his room is filled with the low guitar and slow, smooth flow of D'yer Mak'er. My mom used to listen to this song when I was little, over and over and over. She would use a ladle as her microphone and the kitchen as her dance floor. She would rock her hips and flip her hair, and I would laugh until I cried. Now this song will forever remind me of Edward and this moment.

"She's whatever, Bliss. It wasn't a big deal. I was more upset that he was in my face." He won't look at me. Edward acts as if he's going to change the song, but he doesn't. He turns it up.

The lighter is back in the air, into his palm. Up and down, again and again.

"Oh," I say, pushing myself away from the door. "I'm going to go get dressed." Before I leave, I say, "You shouldn't get into fights, Edward. You're only making your parents upset."

He doesn't say anything and the song continues.

But then he says, "Bella, you're still the prettiest."

He's trying to change the awkward mood.

But it's not awkward. Not like before.

.

.

.

Carlisle actually comes home to pick us up before we go to the beach in La Push. I've attended one or two of these fundraisers with the Cullens before. Carlisle's law firm gives a lot to the local community. Alice tried to explain to me that it's all about tax breaks and spending to save, but I like to think that maybe Carlisle isn't as unforgiving as his family believes he is.

A successful defense attorney, from what he's explained, Carlisle has never been more in demand than he is now.

"_Tell your dad to lay off the arrests_, _Bliss. __I need a day off_," he joked with me once.

The truth is that Daddy Cullen isn't even based in Forks, so my dad's arrests don't affect Carlisle at all. He's big time. Based out of Seattle. The Law Office of Carlisle A. Cullen is where you go when you need to fight for your freedom. And on one of the nights he was actually home and I was there, he showed me newspaper clippings and articles online from the cases he has won … and lost.

It was idolizing.

On the way to the beach, I sit between Edward and Alice in the back of Carlisle's Mercedes. He's heard about the baseball field fight, and unfortunately for Edward, Carlisle didn't have enough time to discipline him at home.

Edward rolls his eyes and flips off the back of his father's head while Carlisle goes on and on about _having some fucking respect for authority._ And, _if this happens again, Edward, I'll pull you off of that fucking baseball team … excuse my mouth, Bliss ... but I'll pull you off of that fucking baseball team, Edward, and you won't play at all._

Esme fixes her lipstick in the sun visor mirror as Carlisle and Edward argue back and forth about the fight. Alice gives me one of her ear-buds so I can listen in on her iPod, but I'm really listening to Edward and his dad.

"You can't stop me from playing baseball, Dad," Edward says, winking at me. He's doing it on purpose. He likes to get under their skin.

The hot-shot attorney can't control his thirteen year old child; go figure.

"You little motherfucker—" Carlisle stops, meeting my eyes in the rear view mirror. "I'm sorry, sweet-girl," he apologizes again. I wave him off. I'm used to the cussing—it's a Cullen thing.

I smile and point to the ear phone placed in my ear. "I can hardly hear you," I say loudly, pretending to speak over the music.

When we get to the beach, everyone is there. That's how it is in a small town, and I'm quickly learning that most of these people are here for the theatrics and gossip more than the charity work. This may even be true concerning Carlisle and Esme.

Carlisle is dressed as he normally is with a few readjustments: the suit jacket is gone and the sleeves of his light blue button up are rolled below his elbows. His hair isn't gelled back, but let loose and lightly waxed; he looks identical to Edward.

Esme looks like someone off of the television set: her hair is flawlessly curled and set, she's wearing a pair of boots my mother wouldn't be seen dead in, and a jacket with fur around the hood.

As soon as they exit the car, Edward and Alice's parents put their game faces on, and the people love it.

"Pathetic, right?" Edward whispers softly into my ear. He walks past me before I can say anything, heading right toward Petey and Ben. They wave hi. I roll my eyes and turn to find Alice.

Her skateboard hits the pavement, and we're off. I follow behind her as fast as I can. February is ending and it's cold at night. I'm wearing jeans because I have to, but they're a pair Alice gave me so they're stretchy and skinny. The black flats are a compromise I made with myself, although I may regret it later when my toes freeze off. The black cardigan I chose isn't offering much protection from the freezing air, but I thought this was going to be held inside of the rec center. I was wrong.

Huge area lights illuminate the sidewalks and a small portion of the beach shore. Caterers and a few dessert booths are open for business alongside the parking lot. There are arts and crafts for the kids, and information booths about La Push, its shabby rec center, and Carlisle's law firm, of course. I see a cruiser, but it isn't my dad.

La Push is small, smaller than my town. Most of the kids from the reservation attend schools in Forks. This beach and rec center are the reservation's largest attractions. It's nice that Carlisle is giving a donation to keep it current and attractive, even if his motives are greedy.

"Alice, wait up." I trot, trot, trot my way behind her, trying to catch up.

Alice rolls off the side of the curb, laughing when she almost falls. She looks back at me and smiles the largest smile. "Did you see that, Bliss?"

I finally catch up and nod. Her cheeks and nose are red from the cold, and her blues are both watery and excited. She flips her board up with her foot and catches it with her hand. Pulling her hoodie over her head, Alice's hair sticks out from the front. "Is that Kettle Corn?" she asks, dropping her board and rolling.

After Alice buys herself a large bag of popcorn, she eats a corn dog, and drinks three hot chocolates. Her dad gives a small speech about the importance of preserving the culture in La Push, acting completely genuine when he hands over the check.

"Did you see the dollar signs in his eyes?" Alice scoffs, letting the chocolate from the bottom of her cup drip onto her tongue.

When I look at her face, she smiles, but she has a chocolate mustache. I wipe it away with my thumbs, and she grabs my hand and licks off the last of her drink. "You're insane, you know that?" I laugh.

"Jazz!" Alice calls out over my shoulder, apparently spotting Jasper. She drops her board to the ground, and we're off again.

Alice has her not-so-really-boyfriend buy her another hot chocolate.

After the money exchange, we're able to do whatever we want. Carlisle hands Alice and I each a twenty dollar bill, even though he just gave us one in the car, and he pats the tops of our heads, telling us to have fun but don't drown. I'm clueless as to where Edward is; I haven't seen him since he whispered in my ear when we got out of the car. If Carlisle is upset because his son wasn't around when he donated the money, he doesn't let on. Alice and I thank her father and move along, spending some time on the beach with Garrett and Jasper.

I'm shiver-trembling and my teeth are chattering. I'm sitting on the sand watching Alice tackle Jasper. They make me laugh because they're so the same, only Jasper hardly talks and Alice always is. He allows her to push him down, but the face he gives is one that declares pay back.

Alice screams and runs down the beach. He chases her.

"Are you cold?" Garrett asks, pulling off his black DC hoodie. He hands it to me. "I'm not cold, it's okay," he promises.

"Are you sure?" When he nods, I put the sweater on before either of us can say another world, and when my head pops out of the hole, I moan. Garrett laughs, but I sigh and sink into the warmth in his sweater.

I believe him when he says he isn't cold because his sweater is body-heat hot, and it's the best thing ever.

He's looking at me with gentle brown eyes. "My mom says I've always been hot blooded."

I think it's supposed to be a joke, but he's too sugar-sweet and simple. The wonderfulness of his face executes the small statement as fact. And I think his mom is right, because his sweater is warm and abnormally toasty. But that can be because I'm abnormally frosty.

I slip my hands into the pocket, savoring the warmth. Garrett and I don't really talk, we mostly laugh at Jasper and Alice, who take their wrestling match up and down the seashore. When Alice gets sand in her eyes, she cries. I get up to help her because Jasper looks absolutely terrified.

"Alice, stop blinking," I say, prying open her fluttering, sand-filled eye.

"I can't help it!" she shrieks, over-reacting.

"Stay here." I let her go. "I'll get a bottle of water so we can flush the sand out."

Jasper and Garrett stare at Alice likes she's a crazy crying person while I walk my way up the beach. The cold sand sinks beneath my toes and air turns white when I exhale. In the parking lot, groups of people are chit-chatting and socializing. Laughter floats into the air, setting off a fun-type of energy. When I reach the sidewalk, I pour out my shoes and slip them back onto my feet, considering buying Alice her fifth hot chocolate because I know it'll make her feel better.

But he calls me.

I hear my name, and I know it's Edward, but I can't see him.

I stand under the orange-glow light from the streetlamp, looking around, but besides the parking lot and rec center, everything is pitch black.

But then he's there, under the same orange lights as me. "Hey, princess," he says, but his voice is lazy and slightly drawn. He comes a little closer. He looks at Garrett's sweater, then at me. "Whose is that?" he asks, but before I can answer, Petey and Ben are under orange light, too, and there's definitely something wrong with them.

Pete and Ben are pulling on my hair and hugging me too close. Petey picks me up and spins me around. He smells funny, but then again, that can just be Petey. Edward stands back with an odd grin on his face. His hands are in his pockets and his hair is a lot messier than it was when he first got here. As if he was reading my mind, his hands push through his strands, showing me why his hair is in such disarray.

I'm finally able to push Petey and Ben away; I straighten out my sweater and fix my hair. "What the heck is wrong with you guys?"

"Come with us, Bliss," Edward says.

Pete looks at Edward like he's misplaced his mind. Edward looks as if Petey doesn't even exist.

"It's time to bury the castles." Edward is eying Garrett's sweater once more. "Obviously."

I nervously laugh, crossing my arms over my shoulders. "What does that even mean?"

Edward is right in front of me. The scent from Petey is stronger, strongest on Edward: roasted marshmallows, summertime, and cake. He smells like dark rain and wet grass. He smells sweet, but wrong. Edward smells unlawful.

"It means that everything isn't so fucking cut and dry." He smirks again, close to my face. He's looking at my lips, my nose, my eyes. "It means that you're stuck in your princess-pink bubble, and I want you to come out for a little while. We don't pull wings off of butterflies. I swear."

"Why are your eyes red, and what do you smell like?" I lean into him, placing my nose right above the collar of his flannel. I close my eyes and inhale. I giggle because my nose tickles. "What is it, Edward?"

He laughs; his lips are right above my ear. "Just a little pot." I breathe in, meeting his eyes. They capture and impound, and I couldn't look away even if I wanted to. "Come hang with me, Bliss," he whispers, moving a strand of hair behind my ear.

Then from behind us: "Dude, you fucking told the little sister. She better not snitch." I can feel Petey's dirty look without actually looking at him.

Edward licks his bottom lip and shakes his head, finally turning away from me. "She's not going to tell. Shut up." He's looking out toward the beach sand. "Where's my sister?"

He doesn't know where to look, but I do, and I see her. Jasper Hale is blowing sand out of her eyes; she isn't crying anymore, she's giggle-snorting. "I don't know," I lie.

Ben, Edward, and Petey walk out from the orange-lit light, and for some reason, I follow.

The boys laugh amongst themselves a couple of yards ahead of me. Edward will look back and check on me every handful of seconds, but he remains with his friends. We pass the parking lot, and the closer we get to the backside of the rec center, the stronger that smell on Edward's clothes and skin is in the air.

It's not the same, though.

It's sweeter on Edward, delicious. In the air, it's harsher and burns my eyes.

When we round the corner behind the center, I hear laughter. There's another street light, lighting the alley way with a deep yellow color. Edward stops, waiting for me to reach him, and it isn't until now that I realize how separated and away he is. He won't really look at me anymore, and when I do catch his eyes, he's absent.

"Bliss," Edward says. "You can't say anything to my parents about all of this, okay?" He's looking everywhere but at me.

I shove my hands deeper into the hoodie pockets, wondering if it was a bad idea that I left Alice behind.

Further down the alley, more laughter bubbles into the air. I hear a girl scream and right away I know it's Kim. I play with the ends of my hair, nervous to be around Edward and his friends.

"I won't say anything, Edward."_ If my dad found out, he would be so upset._

I watch Edward as we make our way toward his group. I can tell that he's trying especially hard to walk straight. He's smiling, but it's as if he can't help himself. His nervous-silliness makes me laugh, and when he asks me what's so funny, I just shake my head and say nothing.

When we're there, I notice _Her_ right away.

She's standing back against the concrete building, smoking a cigarette. Edward doesn't introduce us or point her out to me; he doesn't even acknowledge her presence, but he doesn't have to. All it takes is one look and I instantly know that _She_ is Victoria.

She's the most stunning girl I've ever seen, and nothing like imagined.

I pull on Edward's sleeve, but he's fooling around with Petey, and his obnoxious behavior is kind of, sort of annoying. Every move he makes is either sluggish or over exaggerated, and Petey is paranoid. Every time he hears a noise he's convinced someone is going to catch them. His paranoia only sets off Edward and Ben's amplified laughter.

Kim won't stop giggling, and between her, the laughter, and the paranoia, this all seems really stupid to me. I don't know much, but my dad is a cop. I know how to recognize the signs, and they're lit.

"Edward, I think I'm going to go find Alice." I take a few steps back, about to make a run for it. These people are out of their minds.

"Wait, don't go." Edward takes a few steps forward in my direction. "I'm sorry, are we dumb?" He's laughing still, but when it's only him it's not so bad.

I continue to walk backward, purposely distancing myself from his friends. "Why are you high?" I ask, stopping until he gets a little closer.

"I don't know," he says, running a hand through his hair. "We were bored."

"Have you done this before?" I take a few more steps back when he's within reaching distance.

He shrugs. "A couple of times."

"Is that Victoria?" I nod toward the brunette leaning against the wall.

Edward stops advancing and smiles. "Yeah, are you jealous?"

I cover my mouth with my hand and blush hard, super cherry red with glitter hard. "No!" I say too loud.

Edward points at me. "Isabella Bliss is jealous. Awww … do you love me, Bliss?" he teases.

I'm mortified. "I don't love you. You're a brother. You smell like baseball sweat and dirty play clothes."

He lifts his flannel and inhales. "No, I don't." He looks at me. "Bella, I don't smell like dirty clothes." He's so, so serious. Too serious.

"Yes, you do."

"No, come smell me. I'm serious, Bliss, come smell me!" He's chasing me because I'm running. We're both laughing, and if I don't stop I might pee my pants. The cold air burns my lungs, but it feels good. It feels great.

Until he catches me, forcing me to smell his shirt.

_Vanilla_ and _pot_ and _nighttime _and _meadows _and _smoke_ and _Edward_ … just Edward.

He convinces me to go back with him, and on the walk over he asks me again and again if he really smells.

"You don't smell," I say.

Thirty seconds later: "Do I really smell like dirty play clothes, Bliss?"

His friends didn't seem to notice we were gone, except for _Her_. Edward is drilling me for the fifty-seventh time about the scent of his clothes when _She_ approaches us.

"Hey, little-sister," she says, standing in front of me. She's still smoking. I'm only unsure if she's nursing the same cigarette from earlier or if this a new one. This girl is too young to smoke, that's apparent, but it makes her look … cool.

She may be a lot like Edward in that way.

"I'm Victoria," she says, dropping her smoke to the ground and smudging it out with the tip of her black Converse. "Petey told me who you are."

I look over at Edward and he's dazed, just smiling at me, sniffing his clothes.

"Oh, well, I'm Bella."

"Bliss," Edward corrects me. "I like Bliss better."

"Bella," I say to Victoria, giving her a knowing eye. I only like my family and friends to call me Bliss, and this girl is neither.

She makes it hard, though. Victoria's smile is easy and her eyes are an arresting green—completely exhilarating. Her skin is naturally tan, and her hair is long and brunette, slightly curled, loose past her elbows. She has a couple dozen freckles that scatter across her nose, but it's not her physical appearance that causes Victoria to be so attractive, it's her self-confidence. She stands tall, taller than me. Her shoulders are back and her chin is held high. Victoria knows she's beautiful, but she doesn't come off as being arrogant like Kim and Charlotte, she comes off as forthcoming and accepting.

It's thirty degrees out and she's wearing a short jean skirt and an unfastened flannel. Her Chucks are kind of dirty and she has two anklets around her left ankle. Her nails are painted a dark purple, but they're chipped and bitten. She smells like smoke and lily flowers.

Her lips are big and her boobs are big, and I want to hate her, but I can't.

"How about I just call you _little-sister_?" She reaches forward and touches the end of my hair. "I wish I had hair like you, you're so pretty."

I beam, absorbing her affection; it's like sunlight. "Thanks."

Edward wanders off sometime between _little-sister _and _you're so pretty_. Victoria and I don't really bond, but she hangs by me. She asks a few questions about my relationship with the Cullens, and I ask her about her family. Turns out that Victoria is originally from California. She's thirteen, lives with her mom and her aunt, and she moved here two weeks ago once her parents finalized their divorce.

She lights another cigarette. "Do you want one?"

I shake my head.

"My dad is such a dick," she says with a cigarette between her lips. The fire from a lighter, Edward's lighter, brightens her face before she puts it out and sticks it back into her pocket. "He found a new family, and suddenly his old one wasn't good enough anymore. " She shakes her head, exhaling smoke into the air. "Not like it matters, really. He never paid attention to me. I got a tattoo and my parents didn't even know. Do you want to see it?" Victoria turns around and lifts the back of her shirt. On her lower back is a crimson, jade, and violet butterfly.

"Your parents don't know you have that?" I ask, shocked. My parents would kill me, or ship me off.

Victoria twists back around, taking another drag. "My mom knows, but what is she going to do?"

I remain stunned, imagining a life where I could do whatever I want. I'm not allowed to walk around the block by myself, let alone be gone long enough to get a tattoo behind my parents' back. My mom still tucks me in at night, but something tells me that Victoria doesn't get that from her mom, and it saddens me. She's too hard for her young age.

I look over Victoria's shoulder toward Edward. He isn't acting so giggly-dumb anymore, but he's another one who is growing too rigid. Esme and Carlisle are not as bad as Alice and Edward make them out to be. They're not suffocating like my mom and dad, and a lot of the time they're not paying attention to what my friends do, but they care, and that's obviously something that Victoria's house is lacking.

I'm unexpectedly interested in Victoria's stories. I have a feeling she has a lot of history and a lot of baggage. But when we hear a little person on a skateboard scream "Isabella Bliss!" neither one of us make another move. At the end of the alley-way are three bodies: Alice, Garrett, and Jasper.

Edward is squinting his eyes, and Petey is laughing, squeezing Edward's shoulder, saying something in his ear.

"Bliss, are you down there?" Alice screams. I laugh because, come on, she's screaming.

Edward pushes Petey off of his arm and walks in Alice's direction. Victoria watches his every step with a silly grin on her face. It's as if the drama that is about to unfold all over Jasper is exciting to her, but coming from her home, it's probably all she knows.

I find it incredibly simple to move away from Victoria. I wave my hand in the air and speed-walk past Edward. He growls my name, but I keep moving, waving my hand. "I'm right here, Alice."

"God," she exaggerates, still yelling. "I was looking all over for you! My eye could have fallen out by now, Bella."

I make my way to her before Edward does. I stick myself between Jasper and Alice and hope for the best. Even though Edward is very aware about his sister's not-really-a-relationship relationship, he doesn't seem to be too keen on the idea of his little sister holding hands with the super cute blonde boy.

I stare at Alice with big-huge eyes, trying to warn her. "Let's go," I say quietly, but harshly.

"What, no. What are you doing?" She smells Garrett's sweater. "You smell like smoke."

It's too late to explain anything because Edward is here and he's in his sister's personal space, pushing her away from Jasper. He's out of his mind and more aggressive than normal. Petey and Ben aren't too far behind their leader. So while Edward mumbles ruthlessly in Alice's face, I push Ben toward Edward and tell him to do something.

Jasper is quiet, and Garrett looks confused, but it's easy to tell they both feel uncomfortable with the way Edward has Alice gripped by her wrist. She's tough, but she's still a girl. When she whimpers and asks to be let go of, Jasper looks about ready to intervene. I do instead, placing a shaky hand over Edward's grip. He immediately softens and loosens. His face remains hard and unwavering, but he isn't hurting Alice anymore.

"What the fuck, Edward." Alice pulls her arms away, ready to hit him.

Edward is breathing out of his nose, more upset than I have ever seen him before. He looks pitiless with his cut lip and bloodshot eyes. His jaw is tense and his fists are clenched. "Go find Mom and Dad, Alice."

"What's wrong with you? I was only looking for Bella." Alice is about to cry, and she never cries. Ever.

"Maybe you guys should chill out." Victoria's says out of nowhere. I didn't even know she was around.

Edward rolls his eyes, and Alice asks, "Who the fuck are you?" And it isn't until now that I realize I still have a hold of Edward's wrist.

Everyone laughs, and Petey very kindly, in a obnoxious way, advices Victoria to never mess around with Alice. "If you're smart, you'll shut up, Vic."

She listens.

Edward turns toward Jasper and smirks. "Keep your hands off of my sister, bro."

Jasper doesn't say anything. Alice goes off, but Jasper is cool. He smiles a little and sticks his hands into his pockets.

Edward and I are standing in the middle of this circle of people. Emotions are running high and my hands are still shaking. I don't understand what is happening, or why Edward became so mad so fast, but it's exhausting. I feel so small compared to these people who act so much older.

I keep a hold of Edward's wrist, if only to keep myself still. He doesn't notice, or he doesn't care. He and his sister bicker back and forth while Petey and Ben instigate, and Victoria and Kim gossip, bored with the arguing siblings.

"Can we just go?" I ask, interrupting their words.

Alice drops her board to the ground and rolls toward Jasper and Garrett. They share a look, and vocabulary doesn't need to be said to know that Jasper is asking Alice if she is okay.

"Yeah, go." Edward pulls his wrist from my hold. "Go, Bliss. I'll meet you guys by the car."

I don't say anything or look at anyone, I just go. I take Alice's hand and interlace our fingers before I lay my head on her shoulder and whisper that I'm sorry. We're halfway down the boardwalk with the boys when Edward, Petey, and Ben suddenly show up. Edward shoves himself between Alice and me, putting his arm over my shoulders. Petey takes Alice by her hips and rolls her forward while she screams excitedly.

She loves to be pushed, and Petey always pushes her.

Ben walks somewhere in the middle of us, always a loner in a group of people. He's the quietest out of the three, but I don't confuse that for kindheartedness. He's still one of them, and he's still aggravating.

"Say bye to your friends, Bliss." Edward turns us around. Garrett and Jasper don't look too happy. As we walk backwards, I wave goodbye.

"Oh, wait," I say, stopping our walk. "I have Garrett's sweater." I pull my arms out of the sleeves and Edward pulls it off of my head, throwing it in Garrett's chest. I mouth an apology as Edward pulls me back under is arm. He flips Garrett the bird and turns us back around.

"You're mean," I say.

"Whatever." He shrugs.

Edward, Pete, and Ben spend the rest of the night with me and Alice. We eat crappy hamburgers and drink a lot more hot chocolate. Alice figures out the boys are high and totally digs it. She thinks they're hilarious and laughs until she snorts. Carlisle and Esme are still doing their rounds, selling their services, so the five of us walk back down to the beach.

Alice and Petey wrestle down the beach in the way she was with Jasper only an hour earlier. Ben joins them somewhere along the line, leaving Edward and I on the sand alone. It's still really dark out, but the moon is high in the sky and full.

"Do you see that down there?" Edward asks, pointing to the end of the beach toward the bay. It's practically on the other side of the shore, and I can hardly see what he's pointing to, but when I squint hard enough, I can see an old boat-dock. "We should go there."

"Now?" I ask, squinting a little harder.

"Nah, not now. Later."

"Okay."

On the car ride home Carlisle smells weed and there's a lot of yelling. This time I put the ear phones on and try not to listen.

.

.

.

The thing about living in such a small, minute town is that it's easy to lose track of time. One day turns into another, and that turns into another, and before you know it, it's summertime again. Only this summer comes with a lot of changes.

It the first week of June and my mom and dad allow me to spend a couple of days with Alice. We're at her house and I feel like dirt. My legs hurt, my stomach hurts, and I'm abnormally cranky. Petey and Ben look at me with fingers shaped like crosses.

I say, "Do you ever go home?" And they say, "Do you?"

Edward ignores me.

I'm lying in Alice's bed, groaning, swearing that the world is coming to the end, when I feel it. I shoot out of bed and run to the bathroom, slam the door and sit on the toilet. I look at my underwear and scream.

"What?" Alice barges in, scared out of her mind. "You're bleeding!" she shrieks, pointing a finger at me.

"What do I do?" I ask, a little bit scared myself.

"Let me get my mom." Alice runs out of the bathroom, returning with Esme two minutes later.

Alice points, and Esme says, "Awww, baby girl, you started your period." She offers me her hand. "Welcome to womanhood."

I start to cry. So does Alice. Esme laughs, pulling out a stick with a string.

With a new pair of underwear around my ankles, my knees pressed together, and my calves spread wide, Edward chooses now to come and find out why the girls are screaming.

"I thought there was a spider or some shit!" He closes his eyes and just stands in the doorway, laughing.

"Dammit, Dusty!" Esme pushes him out and locks the door.

I can't look him in the eye for week.

.

.

.

It's July and Edward turns fourteen. I'm still eleven. I hate it.

There's birthday cake and ice cream. I'm sitting at the counter with Alice when Edward walks by and asks if I grew my brand new boobs as a present for him, because if I did, he really likes them.

"Probably my favorite present ever," he jokes.

I think he's high. He usually is.

But I did grow boobs.

It's weird.

.

.

.

My mom won't let me stay the night over Alice's this weekend. She says I'm never home and my dad is grumpy. I'm growing up and he doesn't like it. I wear a bra now—a real bra, not a training one. My mom bought me a white cotton one, but Esme bought me a pink silky one.

My parents were mad.

It's my beloved.

I can curl my hair by myself, and I wear mascara and lip gloss daily. Edward gives me funny looks sometimes. Petey did once, too, but Edward whispered something into his ear and Petey never did it again.

"Hey, Blissy-Bliss, why aren't you here? You're missing out."

I roll my eyes and lie back onto my bed. "Where's Ally?" I ask into the phone.

"Where are your boobs?"

"Are you high?" I giggle.

"Yep—hold on, here's Alice."

"Hello."

"Your brother is dumb," I say, wishing I was there.

"Oh, I know."

.

.

.

It's the last week of July and Edward invites Victoria over. She's still pretty—prettier in the daylight. She's still nice, and she's still tan.

Alice hates her.

"Leave," she tells Victoria. "Call me little-sister again and I'll rip your hair out."

"Alice, stop," Edward laughs, playing video games with his dumb friends.

"You have a slutty tattoo." Alice doesn't stop. "I despise you."

"Alice, get out." Edward kicks us out of his room.

.

.

.

It's the first week of August and I'm school shopping with my mom. None of the clothes she purchases for me are as nice as the ones that Esme gifted me with the week before. But I don't tell my mom this, because I'm grateful. I truly am.

.

.

.

It's the day before class starts. Mom invited the Cullens over for dinner so we can say good-bye to summer together. She's been getting ready all day and the house smells really good. Dad doesn't see what the big deal is, but he's happy that she's happy, and I'm glad that they're glad.

I curl my hair and slip on the purple cotton dress Esme bought for me. I haven't really shown the clothes to my parents yet, but I figure that it's safer to do it when they are here. I keep my feet bare and sweep some blush across my nose. My hair is up and braided around my head. I rub Love-Spell into my skin and look out the window when I hear Carlisle's Mercedes pull into the driveway. He accepted my invitation when I offered.

"_I wouldn't miss it for the world, sweet-child_," he said.

I run down the stairs, and blush when I notice that my boobs are bounce-bouncing. When dad asks, "Where did you get that dress?" I open the door.

Alice and I hug, Esme compliments the summer dress, Carlisle kisses the top of my head, and Edward winks as he passes by. He smells like cologne. He smells like the woods and candy and impending trouble. He doesn't look high, though, and that's good because my dad is a cop and he'd probably arrest him.

Dad stands up and greets our guests. Edward shakes my dad's hand and sits on the couch to watch the baseball game. Carlisle, who is wearing jeans and a pair of Chucks, shakes Dad's hand too. It kind of, sort of looks like they're having a squeezing contest, but whatever.

Mom comes out of the kitchen; her hair is straight and her make up is applied on the heavier side. She has a dish towel in her hands, and she's smiling until she sees my dress. "Bella, where did you get that?"

Esme answers for me. "Oh, I bought for her."

Mom was mad when she found out I started my period at Alice's house and didn't call her. She was hurt, and told me in not so many words that Esme is not my mother, she is. Mom doesn't get it, though. Esme is everything she's not, and I like that about her. It feels like I get the best of both worlds. Esme isn't my mom, but sometimes I wish she was. Esme is freedom where my mother is constriction. Esme is cool, and easy, and fun. My mom is warm and loving, but sometimes I feel like she is holding me back. I can't be a little girl forever. She needs to trust me.

Mom is trying to smile, but it's not really working out. She's staring at the dress, probably wondering how much it cost, having no idea I have five more in my closet.

Alice breaks the ice by saying, "It's ugly, isn't it, Mrs. Swan."

We all laugh, but this won't be the last time I hear about it.

At the dinner table, Carlisle and Dad sit at the ends, I sit beside my mom, and Esme sits with Alice and Edward across from us. Dad and Carlisle don't agree on much; the cop and the defense attorney, go figure. Their conversation becomes tense at times, but Carlisle is good at charming people—it's what he does. Dad looks at me with wary eyes, and it's easy to tell that he is doing this for me. In any other circumstance he would never befriend a person like Carlisle Cullen.

And as dinner moves along, I look around the table and see the differences between my two families. I decide in this moment that I can pretend—I need to pretend—I can keep pretending for the sake of my mother and father that I am not changing, that I will not change. My parents need to believe that I follow their lead and trust in their ancient rules and concepts. I need for my parents to be convinced that I will forever be their little girl.

If my dad ever finds out how the Cullens really are—naive, sometimes blind, and nonchalant—he would never allow them to remain in my life, and for my own saneness, I need them.

And I kind of, sort of think they need me, too.


	5. I am Fred Astaire

**We do not own Twilight; just some pink peeps and a ton of nail polish. All rights and respects to Stephanie Meyer, Taking Back Sunday, Sublime, Nas, Led Zeppelin, Robert Zemeckis, and Fever Ray.**

**This is what happens when a long night means a fist fight.**

**KKbaby is our beta and I love her so.**

**Taking Back Sunday - I am Fred Astaire:** _Fast forward to say four o'clock, I'm keeping time. I'm holding; we're always holding, holding out. And that's what got us here in the first place. You should have never come here alone. You should have never bothered at all..._

**Chapter Four - Isabella Bliss**

It's the last day of school before winter break and I'm a capsule of energy.

I've been a bubbling light since this morning. Mom was hinting at my spending more time at home and I played along all week, but today is Friday, and I get to spend tonight and tomorrow night with Alice.

There's ice and snow everywhere outside, but I've been dance-walking on sunshine all day.

The junior high school's population isn't very big, but the gymnasium is crowded with every student and teacher we have for the Christmas pep rally. We all came from our last hour, and we're supposed to sit with our classes, but I've never seen anyone follow this rule. The cheerleaders cheer lead, the band attempts to make music, the other few hundred of us meander until we find our friends and stand still, pretending to pay attention.

I rock to the toe-tips of my gray snow boots, looking between profiles for Alice's dusty-blonde side-swept bangs.

She let me cut them just last week. They're still long, but this is how she likes them: halfway over her eyes.

"Bella Bliss!"

I turn around to the sound of my name in a friendly, familiar voice. From two bleachers up, Jasper waves. Alice and Garrett are standing on the floor in front of him. She's on her tip-toes, hood up, blowing raspberries at me.

Laughing, I wave and settle down flat onto my feet to make my way through the crowd.

Even though we're supposed to stay on opposite sides from each other, some of the seventh and eighth grade kids mingle together. Not that it matters much to me; I'm pretty sure that the only worthwhile eighth graders I know have already ditched, and are probably halfway faded by now.

_Faded_—another word I learned from Alice, to describe Edward and his friends when they're so high they can barely keep their eyes open. Higher than just a few hits high, somewhere above stoned, when they communicate in nothing but laughs and mumbles.

I don't know where they do it, but sometimes they come home from wherever they've been and make Ally and I giggle so hard our cheeks hurt.

"Ello, love." She smiles with a pretend accent, blowing one of her raspberries on my cheek when I stand next to her. Underneath her black hoodie that has _No lies, just Love_ stitched in white lettering across her chest, she's flickering light and energy, too. I can feel it.

We illuminate each other.

"Hi." I smile, playfully poking the side of her stomach. I smile at Jasper and say hello to Garrett. He nods, whispering hello back to me.

The boys sit on the bleacher one down from me and Alice. She tells me about a project her math teacher assigned, hating that she has to spend any small bit of her break thinking about numbers.

"So, yeah, that sucks," she says, pulling Bubble Tape out of her hoodie pocket.

"It's not like you have to do it tonight. You've got weeks before you even have to think about it," I tell her optimistically, holding my hand out as she pulls a piece of powder-pink, soft gum from the roll.

"True. Thank goodness." Alice breaks the torn piece of gum in half and returns the bubble container to her pocket. "Mom's picking us up, and then she's going out with Dad. Some dinner date with some suits or something."

"Cool." I nod, thinking about tonight, ready to go. I've had nothing but school and homework all week. I'm so excited to be out of here and at her house, in her room, living easy.

On the floor in front of us, the coaches pep-talk the crowd, and the cheerleaders keep doing their thing. We blow bubbles and laugh at Kim with her pop-poms and too-short skirt.

Ally drops her black hood back and ruffles a hand through all her blonde, rolling her eyes over her smile. The navy blue polish on her fingertips is chipped, visual evidence of her badassery and too much time spent apart.

"Let me paint your nails tonight. I brought a new color," I bubble, brushing her sunshine blonde ends with my fingers. "It's just for you."

"Oh yeah?" she says, like she's too cool for school.

"Yeah, and wait till you see what it's called," I nod and promise, ready for the stupid pep rally to be over so vacation can start. "You'll like it."

The closer the hands on the oversized timekeeper across from us edge toward three o'clock, the more restless I become to break free.

Trying to warm my cold fingers, I brush my hands on the knees of my jeans and slide them to the edge of my boots, halfway down my calves. The denim is dark and pretty, and I'm getting used to having to wear jeans through the wintertime. Cold weather means scarves and mittens, and lots of soft, bundled-up layers; so, it's not all bad, but I miss dresses.

I wonder, since Edward ditched with his sidekicks, if he'll be home for dinner, or sometime before Carlisle and Esme return.

He pulled my hat down this morning, over my eyes.

I was standing with Alice at my locker, taking my coat off. He snuck up from behind and made everything go dark.

I nudged my wooly-soft-pink hat back up onto my hair, just in time to see Edward walking by, dumb and dumber flanking him.

"Hey, Bliss." He smiled at me, black hood up, white snow melting into it. He tugged Alice's scarf as they kept walking. "Punk-ass," he played with her.

Stuff like that is pretty much the extent of our involvement with the Edward and his friends at school. Our lunchtimes are different and our classes are on different floors, so we really only see each other a few times a week in the halls.

Our worlds are already so far apart. He's good about making that pretty unforgettable. I'm princess pie and he's nothing but trouble.

When he starts high school next year, I feel like we'll be in two different worlds entirely.

Turning to ask Alice what time her parents are heading out, I open my mouth but pause as she pulls her hands from her hoodie pockets once more.

She crumples some small scrap of paper and tosses it into Jasper's shaggy hair. As she does so, the dozens of friendship bracelets on her wrist peek out from under her black sleeve.

We've made and traded about a grillion knotted, twisted, beaded bracelets in the last three years. I keep mine safe in a little white box on my dresser, only wearing one, maybe two a day, usually. But once you tie one on Ally's wrist, it's not coming off until it falls away from old-age. She likes to wear all of hers, all the time.

What catches my eye, though, as I glance from her wrist of countless different colors and textures, is the connection I make when Jasper plucks the paper from his hair and turns around grinning.

As my best friend feigns oblivious innocence and he tosses the paper right back at her, I notice a strand of braided black thread around his right wrist.

It matches the newest one on Alice's left, right at the end of her wrist.

She throws the paper back at Jasper again, and I swallow the giggly squealy-squeak that almost comes out of my mouth. I cover my smile with my hands because I don't want to embarrass her.

Tomboy Alice has come quite a long way from chasing Freddy Kruger around the playground.

They're far from a couple, but they've got matching bracelets on and it's outrageously, ridiculously cute.

Applause and loud cheering goes up out of nowhere, all around as the principal dismisses the rally. Alice stands, with or without meaning to, just as Jasper does, and the word_ couple _echoes in my mind.

I don't know why it makes me think of orange light and Newports, and two anklets, but it does.

Scanning the gym as we head toward toward the hallway, I realize it wasn't just the boys that were gone. Victoria wasn't here either.

I pop a set of little bubbles against my back teeth and follow Alice's lead through the seventh grade hall.

If anybody were to ask Edward or Victoria, they would say they're not a couple. I've never seen him hold her hand or kiss her, or wear a little black string bracelet from her or from anyone, but I've learned a lot from watching Alice and Jasper, and other people.

Labels don't mean very much.

Secret little details do, and I saw one of her neon-pink ponytail holders on Edward's floor a few weeks ago. And the lighter she pulls from her pocket, used to light her cigarettes, is his black Bic. The one he used to light our sparklers last summer.

But no, they're not a couple, because—Edward has said, in all cocky-smirking seriousness—he can't be tied down.

I rolled my eyes to myself after he explained that one.

Down the hall, Alice laughs at something with Leah and Jasper, and the sound tugs me from my thoughts. Pulling my pink hat and pink wooly scarf on first, I layer my cream colored pea coat on next and reach for my backpack full of spend-the-night supplies.

Esme's waiting for us with the car nice and cozy when Alice and I open the doors, piling into the back seat. At their house, inside from the blustery cold, she orders Chinese food for us with an extra order of lo mein for when Edward gets back from Petey's.

We're finishing dinner when she comes back into the kitchen, fastening diamonds to her earlobes. "I want you to call me if Edward tries to bring his friends in when they drop him off tonight."

"Why?" Alice asks, only half paying attention as she opens the fridge for milk.

I box up what's left of our noodles and lean against the counter, curious as to what he's done this time.

Esme shakes her head. "Because Mr. Banner called me today," she answers with a completely unsurprised and very unpleasant smile.

Mr. Banner is the assistant principal at our school. As I turn to bring two glasses down from the cabinet, I wonder if he has the Cullen's house phone number memorized by now.

There's a lot that Edward gets away with scot-free, but he pushes the boundaries more and more all the time, and I just don't get it. I want to, but I don't understand what good he really thinks is going to come from it.

"He stuck a note in some girl's locker. Kimberly?" Esme asks, shaking her long bronze waves out, making the bangles on her wrist clink together.

Alice snorts. I fight the urge to giggle, because really? Kim?

"Yeah, and?" Alice prompts her mother, glancing up at me from her glass of milk.

I take a drink to keep quiet. I can only imagine what kind of outrageous, silly-filthy things were in such a note.

Esme shrugs like she doesn't know what to make of it except for the fact that Edward is in trouble...

Again.

"Her mom found it yesterday and Kimberly told her Edward did it. It's not his handwriting, but the cameras apparently show him putting it in her locker. And since he smarted off, and said he wanted to talk to Seattle's finest defense attorney instead of telling Banner who actually wrote it, this is his second written warning."

She shakes her head again with a disappointed sigh. "He's got two days of in-school suspension when he goes back."

While half of me wants to laugh at what the note probably said, and at the image of Edward being a wise-guy right to bulky Mr. Banner's face, the other half of me sees how frustrated Esme is. I wish he'd straighten up before Carlisle's recent threats of military school become reality.

Alice nudges my elbow, nodding toward the staircase.

Thanking Esme for dinner, I grab my bag and follow my friend to her room.

I take off my boots and she turns on 40oz. to Freedom.

"I wish it was summertime," she says, flopping onto her bed and looking out the window upside down.

I flop with her, and we sing about Scarlet Begonias and a touch of the blues. We sit up and draw designs with our fingertips in her zebra-print comforter and talk about the note. We're pretty sure Petey probably wrote it, and we giggle some more about Kim and her pom-poms.

When I hand her the nail polish I brought, she bounces happily, holding it with both hands.

"Okay, you were right, I do love it." She grins, holding the little bottle up and inspecting it in the bright snow-light coming in through her curtains. "What's it called?"

I reach and turn the bottle of matte black in her hands so that she can see the sticker on the bottom.

"Ha! It's true." She laughs as she hands the bottle of black polish back to me and stands up to get remover from the bathroom.

Smiling to myself, and I stretch my legs out on her bed, and wiggle my toes in my stripy pink and white toe socks.

I hear the door open downstairs just as Alice comes back around the corner.

She raises her eyebrows up, and so do I. With a sneaky exchange of glances, I slide off her bed and we step silently out into the hallway.

When we peek over the bannister, I barely catch Edward, just a glimpse of his right hand and his brown-red hair going every which way as he drops his snow covered hood back.

Esme's voice is chilly-calm from the living room:

"Do you have some explaining you'd like to do?"

Edward shakes his head and disappears from sight, heading toward where she is, and I think if I were him, if I was a kid that was constantly breaking the rules, I'd hate such a question. It's like they're literally inviting him to get himself into more trouble.

I blink, and it starts, their questioning back and forth. It's muffled because we're all the way upstairs, but some of it's clear.

She says something about being smarter than your friends.

He tells her she's got a lot of room to talk.

I'm not completely sure what he means, but she raises her voice in return. She doesn't yell, but she definitely sounds like she means business.

Edward doesn't raise his voice, not ever really. He doesn't need to. His tongue is sharp and quick enough on its own.

It doesn't go on very long. I hope hard inside that he and his friends were at least a little slick about skipping the pep rally today.

Alice and I trade glances when we hear Edward's heavy steps.

"You can tell your father all about it this time," Esme says, right behind him as he enters sight again and picks his book bag up. "Since it's 'no big deal', you go right ahead."

"Whatever," he grumbles under his breath, back turned to her like he's not even listening.

"What was that?" she demands with her hands on her hips at the bottom of the staircase.

Ally and I scoot back into her room, and just before she starts closing her door—slowly, carefully to keep it quiet—I hear Edward mumble something else. Something in a low enough voice that I don't think Esme catches it and I wonder if Alice does:

"I can't fucking wait to get out of here."

He slams his door closed so hard. Alice and I both jump. Then we hear his bag hit the floor on the other side of his room.

My heart's beating hard; I don't glance at Alice for a few seconds because I don't want her to feel any more awkward than she already might. I lean against her desk and press my lips together, chipping at the Tickle Me Pink nail polish I just painted on this morning.

Alice moves in my peripheral vision and I look up.

"I'll be right back." She opens her door. I'm alone and my tummy turns a little.

I can't say I'm used to Edward's temper, because it's a lot to get used to, but I'm as close to being used to it as I think anyone can be. It's not the argument with his mom, or his door-slamming and book bag throwing that unsettles me here and now, though.

It's not the trouble he insists on always being in, or the curse he just dropped that rings in my ears and twists in my stomach, it's the last three words he just said.

_Out of here._

Alice nudges her door open with the remover in her left hand, and a bag of cotton-balls under her arm.

"Forgot these." She smiles, shrugging her skinny-strong shoulders up like it's all good. Everything's all right.

Okay, maybe Alice is more used to his temper than anyone else, but I feel like a pretty close second.

I take her lead and sit down criss-cross applesauce with her, pushing my nervousness aside.

Carlisle gets home a little later but doesn't come in. Esme calls her love and goodbye up the stairs before she leaves.

We call ours back in harmony.

Edward says nothing. His music is loud enough that I'm pretty sure he probably doesn't hear anything else.

I paint Alice's nails and repaint my own while she burns new CDs for me; winter mixes named after our colors: Glamour Kills and Knockout Pout.

After a while, Edward switches from Illmatic to Led Zeppelin. I don't know the title, but he skips to a slow, deep-acoustic song I've heard here a few times before. Even behind two closed doors, the second line echo-vibrates in my ears.

_Made up my mind to make a new start, going to California with an aching in my heart..._

It's pretty and it's sad, and it reminds me of what he said, and my stomach hurts higher, up in my chest.

Ally stacks my CDs into thin, pretty colored cases and spins around in her desk chair to face me.

I push the twisty-turny feeling down.

"I've got the munchies," she says, holding her hands out and looking with love at her freshly painted fingertips. "Wanna go downstairs?"

"Sure." I nod, hopping off the bed to follow her.

She's got a television and stuff in her room—her and Edward both do, but the one downstairs is nicer. So, while she raids the snack pantry, I get movies ready.

I'm not sure what time it is when Edward shuts his music off. We're halfway through the first Back to the Future, the December sun set about an hour ago or so, and Alice has annihilated half a box of Wheat Thins. I've eaten a few of them and nibbled on some licorice, but my stomach disagrees with all of it. I can't eat when I'm anxious.

The three words I'm trying not to think resonate in my mind. They bother me. I push at them, but they push back.

_Out of here._

They burn and make me feel sickly-nervous. Worse than scrambled eggs. Worse than the first day of school in a new city. The thought of Edward running away, by himself—

Without a second to wonder why, I go instantly from nervous to scared. I can feel it. It creeps like icicle-drips down the back of my neck.

_Would he really run away?_

My stomach hurts worse.

Edward's tough, but he's not a grown up man yet, and the world is dangerous. I've been kept from the dark parts of it, but I know enough to know that if the world wasn't, my mom wouldn't stay up all night worrying about my dad when he has to take certain calls. Forks isn't Phoenix, but criminals and creeps are everywhere, and they're ruthless. They're cold.

And Edward's not like that. He's warm.

Sure, he's a boy and he's got a foul mouth, and some unseemly hobbies, and zero respect for authority, but his heart is good. He's warm inside, not cold. I can hear it when he laughs and lets his teeth show. It's in the way he's always watching out for his sister and me. Or when he kisses his mom's cheek for no reason at all. His warmth transforms into birthday high-fives and stolen cartons of milk.

Before we start the second movie, Alice makes two cups of cocoa for us. We drop marshmallows in and grab a blanket to share on the couch. I work on swallowing my uneasiness with each hot chocolate sip.

Ten or fifteen minutes into the sequel, I hear the shower turn on upstairs. It shuts off a little later, but we're almost to the end of the movie before I hear footsteps on the carpeted stairs.

Alice turns at the sound, looking over her shoulder. I recross my legs under the blanket.

"Hey," she says quietly, watching Edward as he comes around the sofa and sits down in the chair to my left.

I glance up as I set my mug down, and try to smile.

"Hey," he says to both of us, slightly smiling back. His feet are bare and he's got black sweats on, a white tee-shirt, and his hair has obviously been towel dried and pushed around by his fingers.

His mood is easily twice as light as it was earlier, but the calm after his storm is often just as unpredictable as the thunder. I tread lightly.

I want to know more about what happened, about what he's thinking, but don't want to pry or push.

"Alright, c'mon," Ally starts, taking the risk for us both. "You wrote Kim a dirty love note?"

Edward snorts, shaking his head as he drags his hand down his face, glancing from the television to us.

"Fuck no," he says, holding his hand out when she picks up the bag of Twizzlers between us. "Petey wrote that shit the other day."

Holding one between her teeth, Alice pulls two more pieces of licorice from the bag and hands them to me. I keep one and pass the other to Edward, taking a tiny bite as I glance between Doc Brown and the delinquent boy with summer-sky blue eyes.

"I knew it," Alice smirks as she shakes her head. She taps her Twizzler against her lips, chewing a bite. "So, what'd it say? Why did you give it to her?"

"Because Petey chickened out." He kind of chuckles, taking a bite of cherry licorice before he continues. "We got all fucking stoned Tuesday and he wrote some stuff down he wanted to tell her, but then every chance he got, he was too pussy to do it."

Alice laughs a little. She doesn't ask why he didn't tell Mr. Banner it was Petey that wrote whatever was so inappropriate, and neither do I.

I want to ask him if he's going to run away, because the thought has taken over my brain, but I don't have the guts or the heart to. Thankfully, Alice keeps asking questions.

"What are you going to tell Dad?"

Her brother just shrugs, glancing at the screen. "Whatever. What's he going to do, ground me?"

"I'm just saying, last time he said—"

"They're not going to send me to boot camp, Alice," he cuts her off with a half reassuring, half don't be ridiculous look. He takes another bite of Twizzler. "If they were, Dad would have done it last week when he found my bag."

Our jaws drop in sync. It makes him laugh, and I realize I laugh a little too, because I really like that sound.

"Dad found a bag on you?" Alice is astonished.

I kind of am, too. I knew he did it, but knowing it's not somebody else's brother or something, that he actually has it on him, makes him some kind of really cool. I know it shouldn't because drugs are bad or whatever, but I can't help feeling a little in awe, too.

"What'd he say?"

Edward laughs again, tickling my stomach where his words from earlier are still sort of twisting. It's a strange sensation, the combination of the two.

"That it was better than the shit he smoked in college." He shakes his head, fighting what looks like a cringe. "Then he made me flush it."

I'm pretty sure I hear Alice's jaw drop further open. I look from her to him and he looks right at me. His eyes are clear blue.

"Give me another piece of licorice, Bliss."

It's snowing outside and he smiles a summertime bright smile. I press my lips together and pass him another Twizzler.

The three of us are mostly quiet after that. The third movie starts and Edward leans back in the chair. It's easy to forget about the worry in my stomach. I curl up under the blanket, in the corner of the couch cushions.

I don't realize I've nodded off until there's a flash of headlights in the driveway. Alice is out like a light and Edward is standing just as I lean up onto my elbow.

"See you guys," he offers, heading for the stairs, apparently not wanting to explain anything to his dad until tomorrow.

I can't blame him. If I were in his shoes, I'd probably feel the same.

Alice wakes up when her parents come in. Carlisle kisses our foreheads and says goodnight. Esme lingers a few minutes longer to pick up our snacks and tell us about Mr. Newton's awful hair plugs.

We head upstairs together and change into pajamas. Ever the odd couple, she's the black Clash tee-shirt and basketball shorts to my matching light-violet cami and pants. We brush our teeth together and back in her room, I climb into the small sofa turned-bed and she gets into hers.

"B, I love you like smooshed chocolate cake," she tells me in the almost dark, save for a little bit of winter night light coming in through her curtains. It outlines everything thin, silvery-white.

"I love you like little green lizards," I tell her back.

She giggles and turns over in her blankets, and I do, too. I yawn and stretch my legs out. I turn onto my side and close my eyes. I was so tired downstairs on the couch; I'm sure as I yawn again, that I'll fall asleep in no time.

But a few minutes pass.

And a few more.

I turn onto my back, and onto my other side. I stretch out and curl up. I try to relax, but the longer I lie there, more of my nervousness creeps back up.

Edward's last three words to his parent's loop around my mind and make me feel sick again.

I try not to let them bother me. The argument didn't seem to upset Alice; so, maybe they're nothing new. I think maybe they're just frustration and restless anger, coming out in words I haven't heard yet.

But it doesn't work. His words keep me up long after Ally's fast asleep. They don't let me sleep. They don't even let me get comfortable.

I think about him running away and it makes me think of Victoria, of the hardness in her eyes. It makes me wonder about what has broken and calloused inside her. She's nice enough, and she's beautiful, but she's iron-hearted, and it makes me hurt for her.

_Out of here._

They loop around again and again. I close my eyes and I'm hit with the idea of that kind of hardness in Edward's eyes, and it's downright frightening. His words echo with lyrics about aching and door slam sounds, and I think I'm going to be sick.

I sit up in bed and blow a slow breath out, steadying myself. Alice is snoring lightly, as I nudge the blankets away, but the rest of the house is silent as I walk to the bathroom.

The rest of the house except Edward's room.

Closing the bathroom door behind me, I catch the muffled hum of television commercials down the hall. I don't know if it's the cool water I touch to my face and the back of my neck, or just knowing he's still awake, but I regain most of my composure.

The idea that occurs to me then is out of nowhere and weirdly un-ignorable. The apparent cure to my apprehensions is indisputable in my mind.

Patting my face dry with the towel, I flip the light off as I open the door to the hallway. It's softly lit with the glow of the moon and stars coming in through the windows. Alice's room is to the left, across from Carlisle and Esme's. Their door is shut and hers is pulled just-to, how I left it. Edward's room is to the right, a sliver of warm golden-white between his closed door and the floor.

I think about hesitating.

I think about my parents.

I think about going back to Ally's room and trying to sleep, and my tummy turns knots, and I can't do it.

Pressing my lips together, I push away from the door frame and turn right. I tip-toe quieter than I've ever tip-toed anywhere, and when I get to his door, I tap on it with my pink-painted fingertips as lightly as I can.

The television sound gets turned down a little, and it's all the encouragement my nerves need. The doorknob is cool in my hands as I turn it and toe-step inside his room.

Edward's in his bed, on top of the covers and leaning against his headboard in the same clothes as earlier. He sits up straighter when I enter.

"I can't sleep," I whisper, closing his door carefully shut behind myself.

"Where's Alice?" he whispers back, looking surprised, worried even. "Do you want me to get my mom for you?"

I feel my cheeks go crazy-red with embarrassment. I feel like a stupid kid.

"No," I shake my head. "No, Alice is okay. I'm okay; I just can't sleep."

He relaxes and I sit down on the edge of his bed, the same spot I've sat in probably a hundred times by now during the day. I feel dumb for startling him, but my anxiousness has already started fading away, and I don't want to go back to nervousness and not sleeping yet.

I pull my hair over my shoulder and play with the strawberry-yellow ends. I can feel Edward, glancing between me and the TV across from us, unsure what to say or do, totally off guard. It's another side of him that's new to me.

"Can I just ... can I watch television with you?" I ask quietly, wanting to stay but not wanting to bother him or make him uncomfortable.

His face softens even more when I look up and back at him, and I feel safe. He nods his head yes and I stand up. My bare arms are cold; so I pull the covers back on the side of the bed he's not on and bring my knees up to slide in.

He picks up the remote and changes it off of Dexter, flipping channels for a few minutes before stopping on The Office, like it's neutral ground for him and the apparently out of her mind kid in his room.

I curve my arm under one of his light gray pillows. It's cool on my cheek, and I can smell him, his cologne and wet grass, trouble, and smoke, and vanilla, everywhere. His sheets are wonderfully cold on my feet and bare ankles where my pajama pants ride up. There's a darker gray comforter on top of the sheet, keeping warmth in. It's a cozy kind of cold, so comfortable.

I lie on my side so I can see the television. My eyes are open and Edward's still sort of sitting up, back against his headboard.

We don't talk, but it's not awkward. He's not obnoxious and he doesn't make me nervous. We just watch TV and I'm thankful that he's here, safe and sound.

I'm so exhausted inside from roller-coastering all day, from being so super excited this morning and all afternoon, to so unsettled and confused all of tonight. I breathe in a yawn, and I'm out before I know it.

.

.

.

.

.

I've no idea how long Edward's been awake, but he's much more coherent than I when he wakes me up.

"Bliss," I hear him say quietly.

I stretch behind my still closed eyes, arms and legs tangled in darkly sweet smelling softness.

"Hey," he whispers; I feel his weight shifting next to me. He closes his hand over my shoulder, his blankets between us, and pulls me gently from sleep.

There's a little bit of light glowing through his curtains when I blink my eyes open. It's enough for me to make him out, still on top of the covers and leaning up on his elbow, looking down at me.

His hair's a fuzzy-flurry of bronze-brown goodness and his sleepy blue eyes are kind. Edward's morning look is dreamy.

He looks at my face and he smiles his half-smile. "It's early," he says, the subtle glow of dawn back-lighting his profile. "You need to get back down to Ally's room before she wakes up."

My head's still on his pillows, and I'm reluctant to pull the blankets down because my hair probably looks crazy. On top of that, pieces of yesterday and last night start fluttering back to me, and there's so much I want to ask.

But his sleepy half smile is reassuring, refreshing. It's enough and I nod, and make myself move.

I walk softly toward his door and turn the handle with both hands for extra-cautious quiet. I peek out to be sure all the doors are still closed before I turn back around, over my shoulder.

"Thanks," I whisper, meeting Edward's early morning eyes once more, just for a second before I slip out into the hallway.

It's silent downstairs; Carlisle and Esme are still in bed, and Alice is still snoring her light little snore when I re-enter her room. I'm uncaught—my middle of the night acts unknown, and so are his. There's a rush of something like butterflies in my stomach, and I wonder if it's how he feels every time he gets away with breaking a rule.

I curl down into Ally's black and white checkered pillows and her neon green sheets. I cover up with her black blankets, but I smell like vanilla, and the woods, and trouble. And I kind of love it.

.

.

.

.

Seventh grade is a lot of school work and staying home through the week.

I miss Alice and her whole family like they're my own. I stay over most Friday nights and sometimes Saturdays, too, but I'm home a lot. I'm a good daughter and an excellent student. I bring home fairly straight A's, and I work on solar system projects at the kitchen table while Mom cooks dinner.

While she washes the dishes afterward, I dry and we talk about anything. Everything but boys anyway, because when she asks about them, I roll my eyes.

Boys make girls dumb, and I have no desire to be a dummy.

Life is easy and it goes on. The snowy cold gives way to to slick-bright spring and I'm both glad and grateful for new dresses. Alice is stoked to put new hot pink wheels on her skateboard, and Edward starts wearing sunglasses, whether the sun is out or not.

Petey and Ben start wearing them too, and so does Victoria. She might actually have been the first—

"Because when you're cool," she told Alice the other day, when my best friend asked her why she had Ray Bans on when it was raining outside, "the sun is always shining."

She makes me confused. I want to like her because she's nice, even to Ally who is always antagonizing her, but she feels so ... different, to me. Foreign, no matter how much I learn about her. She's lived a whole life already that I can't even imagine.

She and Edward both deny they're a couple. I have my suspicions. Everyone seems to, but they both think that shit is fucking stupid. So they're not, or whatever, but sometimes she wears his Ray Bans instead of her own. And sometimes, she calls their house line and he takes the phone to his room and closes the door.

His hormones have ebbed a little, but not much. The morning smile from months ago, the same one he shoots me with in the hallways sometimes, comforts me, but I still wonder about him leaving, and if I think on it long enough, it leads to some kind of worrying. Even though he never raises his voice, some of the fights between him and his parents make me certain he's going to bolt for the front door instead of his bedroom any day.

I turn onto my side in Alice's sofa-bed-made-mine, glancing at the television that's still on. It's well after midnight, first night of spring break and she's passed out hard.

Esme and my mom took us to the mall after school. They had coffee; we walked around and shared a huge slice of triple cheese pizza. Alice wiped the air hockey table with me, and I pointed out which couples she should sneaky-throw crunchy little ice cubes at over the balcony.

Mom came along with us to Edward's game, too. Alice and I watched the first ten minutes or so, then a little more here and there, but we spent most of it running around with Jasper and Leah. Well, they spent it running around, Jasper chasing Alice as she chases air on her board while Leah and I drank pink lemonade from paper cups and laughed.

I hugged Mom after the game and rode home next to Ally in the back seat. Edward, on the other side of Alice, kept trying to grab pieces of our pastel-purple spun-sugar-cotton and she nudged him away every time, both of them grinning.

"Get off our candy, captain dirty hands." She laughed, pushing the fluffy cotton candy out of her lap and into mine. "Get your own!"

At home, lazy from our long day, we changed into pale blue pajama pants and basketball shorts. Ben and Petey showed up after a while, clean jeans and zip hoodies, fresh faced goons. And a little bit later, Carlisle and Esme left with a bottle of wine to hang out with the neighbors three houses down; they probably wouldn't be back until way late.

Stretching through a yawn, I curve my legs and flip my pillow over. I'm thirsty. I can't really get comfortable. I'm not even really tired. I close my eyes and wonder if the three punk-musketeers are still awake. Alice's television isn't up very loud, but I can't hear clearly enough to tell.

It's the middle of March now, and I haven't gone back to Edward's room, but to say I haven't thought about it would be a lie. I don't go because I shouldn't, but I do think about it sometimes.

I open my eyes and try not think about it, but I'm still not tired. I still can't really get comfortable, and I'm still thirsty.

Pushing the blankets back, I get out of bed in silence and pull a tee-shirt from Ally's dresser over my camisole. I don't know what it says, only that it's black and it does the trick. My boobs are small because I'm kind of small, and they're proportional to me, but they are definitely boobs, and I'm not sure who might still be awake.

When I get out into the hallway, I'm glad I grabbed the shirt because I can hear Edward and his friends laughing.

Tip-toeing quietly to the bathroom, I close the door behind me and fill the little cup next to the sink with cold water. I lean against the counter as I drink. Taking my time, I comb my fingers through my hair and listen to the sounds down the hall. I look at myself in the mirror. Some of my sun freckles came out today, across my forehead and cheeks.

I turn to the side and look at my profile. Alice's shirt looks different on me than it does on her. My small curves are subtle, but I can see them under the faded black cotton.

She thinks they're funny. Not just mine necessarily, but boobs in general. Probably because when, and if she ever gets them, she'll be shaped like an actual girl.

"Just you wait," I teased her yesterday. "You're going to wake up with boobs one day, and I'm going to buy you the prettiest, light-pinkest, laciest bra ever made, and you're going to be a young woman!"

I snorted on the words and she tackled me, declaring her denial of such a preposterous event in a smiling, drawn out "No!"

Smiling to myself at the memory, I drink the last of my water and return the cup, flipping the light out as I open the door. I get about four steps into the hallway when I hear Edward's door open.

I turn around as Petey comes out, looking down at his feet and still laughing about something while he starts to close the door. He doesn't close it all the way, though, because when he looks up in the next second, I'm caught.

"Hey, princess Blissy-bliss," he calls, just above a whisper. His grin is goofy and his steps are clumsy-heavy. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

I sigh and cross my arms. "Isn't it past yours? Aren't you supposed to turn into a gremlin?"

"Maybe. Wouldn't that be cool?" He laughs as he continues walking toward where I'm standing, facing him.

"Petey, shut my door!" Edward calls from his room.

His best friend kind of, sort of snorts and shakes his head. Reaching out, he takes hold of my forearm from my chest. His hand is warm. "C'mon." He smiles, tugging me along.

Too curious to stop my own steps, I follow the tall blonde boy and peek around his shoulder when he nudges Edward's door the rest of the way open.

"Look who doesn't turn into a pumpkin after midnight," he says as he steps aside.

Ben, half lying, half leaning against the bed and dresser, looks up and nods as if to say hey, and Edward smiles as he sits up straighter.

It reminds me of the last time I came into his room in the middle of the night, and I smile too, feeling silly.

"Hi." I raise my left hand, giving a small wave.

It's quick, really quick, but I watch Edward's eyes flick from mine, to his friend's loose grip above my wrist. Petey lets go and sits back down on the floor, his uninhibited mood unaffected.

Edward's smile is a little on the goofy side when he looks at me again. He scoots over so that there's more room between him and Petey, and waves me over with his hand. "Come sit by me, Bliss."

So, I do, and it's kind of great. He takes the controller back from Petey, who took it from him when he sat down, and I cross my legs under myself, and lean back against the foot of his bed.

On the screen, they're racing stolen cars and beating up cops. To my left and right, they're sharing a big, green glass bottle. Jameson, I think the off-white label says. Ben and Petey both have bottles of Seven Up and on the other side of Edward, he has a can of Sprite from the fridge downstairs.

I swallow hard and feel like the nerdy little sister in a room full of cool kids when I hope the bottle isn't from the cabinet downstairs. I don't ask where they got it, though. Half because I don't want to sound like the nerd, and half because I really don't want to know.

They take turns on the video game, swapping their controllers for the alcohol when they die. Ben's cheeks are rosy-pink, and he snickers insults back and forth with his friends. It's just dumb boy trash talk, but I feel like it's the most I've ever heard him speak.

I glance out of the corner of my eye at Edward. His cheeks are pink, too, but not as much as Ben's, and his smile looks like it's casually plastered in place, not going anywhere.

_The boys are drunk!_

Part of me fights to keep from giggling. Part of me wants to go get Alice and bring her here to giggle with me. And another part of me, the most part, is oddly intrigued. I feel like I'm getting a peek into their world, like that night in La Push, under the street lamps, and I'm totally fascinated with it.

When Petey loses and passes his controller to Ben, he picks up the Jameson. After swallowing a deep drink, he blows air out and nudges the bottle in my direction, and I've never, ever felt as much pressure to be cool as I do in this moment.

I take the big bottle in both hands and Petey laughs. "You're such a fucking girl." He shakes his head and reaches over to show me how to hold the bottle by its skinny neck in one hand.

In my peripheral vision, Edward turns away from the television and toward us.

"Wait." He presses pause and sets his controller down in his jean covered lap.

"What the fuck? C'mon, man, no pauses, you pussy." Ben laughs, making his cheeks rosier red.

"Fuck off," Edward replies without looking at him, his silly smile still in place as he focuses on the bottle and I. "Wait for me, B," he says as he scoots back a little. Our shoulders bump as he straightens his posture.

As he does so, Ben reaches over and un-pause the pause button on Edward's controller, starting the game again.

Edward just laughs some more. They both do, and so do I, and so does Petey, sipping his Seven Up. The boys race their stolen cars, and I read the label on the bottle in my hands.

Triple Distilled.

Irish Whiskey.

40% ABV (80 proof)

I bring it to my nose and immediately regret sniffing. The smell burns my nose and prickles my nerves so that the little hairs on my arms stand up.

Shaking his head in defeat, Edward passes Petey the controller. He takes the whiskey from me and pulls a drink. I can smell the alcohol when he lowers the bottle from his lips.

"You don't have to," he tells me softly, so quiet that his friends don't notice it over the new game they've started.

I nod, thinking about it while I look at the white stitching in his white tee-shirt and the copperish teeth in his unzipped hoodie zipper. I feel in honesty like he won't make fun of me if I don't take a drink. He won't call me out or tease me about being a girlie girl princess, but I still kind of want to try it anyway. Just to see what it's like. They obviously like it, and I want to know what I'm missing out on.

"I know," I say back, meeting his eyes. "I just want to try it."

His smile grows a little, like he knows something I don't, but he returns the bottle to me.

I take it with one hand this time, holding onto the neck like Petey showed me and like Edward did when he turned it up just now. I don't breathe, because I think if I do, the smell will burn my nose all the way to my lungs. Bringing the green glass lip to my own, I tip it back slowly.

It hits my tongue like a splash of fire.

It's the most awful, most disgusting thing, and I feel my face contort into absurd shape as I swallow just to keep from spitting out my drink. The second it's down my throat, I blow all the oxygen in my chest out and open my mouth, letting fresh air hit my tongue in hopes that it will take away the rotten tasting, burning feeling.

"Here, here–" One of Edward's hands touches the outside of mine while his other nudges a cool can against my palm.

I take two huge drinks right away and they seem to help. So, I take another, desperately gulping the cold citrus soda down before I open my eyes.

At some point while they were closed, someone took the Jameson from me. It's in Ben's hands now. Petey's dropped his controller and is cracking up, and Edward is looking right at me. He's not laughing but he's grinning so high that his eyes are barely open.

He doesn't say anything or take his eyes away as I breathe out again, swallowing a painful hiccup. He just smiles and shakes his head like I'm a crazy person.

It makes me feel a little crazy. I take another drink of his Sprite to shake it off and reach for Petey's controller as I swallow.

Ben snorts, sitting up to accept my surprise challenge. Petey's still laughing as he leans back and takes another pull from the bottle, but I don't care. Edward's right behind me. I can see the side of his stretched out leg next to me, close to my body space, and the boys are letting me hang out, and play.

They're laughing, and I know it's not the same as laughing with me. I know it's at me, but it's not the mean kind of laughing at me. Or maybe it is, but for a few minutes, I don't even care.

I'm laughing, too.

.

.

.

.

.

Two weeks later, I'm back in Edward's room, but it's late afternoon and I'm with Alice, helping her search for her shoe.

Today is April Fool's day, which also happens to be her birthday. She's turning thirteen before me, but I'm way too happy to be jealous. Birthdays are always great days.

"Uggghhhh, Edward fucking Anthony, you stupid, butt-head boy." She kneels down next to his desk, digging around. She's far from afraid of opening his closet or exploring under his bed when it comes to shoe-searching.

I, on the other hand stand back, surveying his room with my shoulders against the door frame. I watch her expedition and I try not to laugh. He already told her it's not in here, but she's been looking for the better part of an hour and hasn't found it anywhere else. Wherever her left Chuck Taylor is, Edward's hidden it really well this time.

"Mary Alice, God, man, c'mon," the blue-eyed hider says as he steps past me, tossing his jacket on his unmade bed. He's laughing in a good mood, but his words are crystal clear. "C'mon, get out of my shit."

"Give me my shoe!" she demands as she stands up, pushing her middle-parted hair back.

"Go find it, birthday dork." Edward smiles crooked at her, then over at me. "Maybe Jameson here can help you."

Luckily Ally is too busy double checking under his bed to notice what just came out of his mouth. I feel my cheeks tingle, though, and I know they're pink, and I know it's not the blush I swept across them this morning. He just called me out, and now he's smirking like it's hilarious.

I bug my eyes out in worried warning and shake my head at him. Alice probably wouldn't care, but there's no reason for anyone else to know. I move my hand under my chin, back and forth in the universal—_Oh my gosh, shut your mouth and stop talking right freaking now—_motion.

Edward's smirk breaks into a laugh, so deep sounding that he crosses his arm over his stomach. "See ya, strawberry blonde," he says as he walks by, flipping one of my low-pulled pigtails over my shoulder. "Alice, get the fuck out of my room."

A good half an hour later, we're sitting on the couch watching a Rodney Mullen documentary.  
>Both of us have one shoe on, one shoe off; mine out of sympathy, hers because she still can't find it.<p>

The godfather of street skating kicks a heel-flip on the screen and Esme opens the front door, carrying a tattered black and white shoe in one hand and two pizza boxes under her other arm.

"I believe this belongs to you, birthday babe." She smiles, dangling the shoe from it's checkered strings.

Alice curses under her breath and pulls the shoe on, not bothering to tie it. I pick my other Mary Jane up from the carpet and buckle it on over my white sock, smoothing out the plaid pleated skirt of my dress that's ten different shades of blue. Ally's in her usual jeans and tee-shirt, but she did let me twist two super skinny little braids on the left side of her hair this morning. They're small and blend right in with the rest of her pale blonde in an elusively pretty kind of way.

Edward comes downstairs with Carlisle for dinner, and shortly after, people start showing up. Leah and Jasper, and Garrett, and a few other boys and girls from our grade. Alice even told Ben and Petey they could come, but not Kim or Victoria because this is her birthday, and she gets to decide.

My mom and dad come, too; Mom is carrying Alice's gift with dad's hand on the small of her back. She looks pretty, with her loose blonde curls pinned up and her cat-eye sunglasses on. I smile and wave at her from across the room as she props them up on her head. She winks at me and I wink back.

There's no candles or singing, but there is devil's food Oreos and ice-cream cake from Mrs. Goff's and lots of presents. Ally gets a new stereo and a ton of new CDs and posters. She gets these cool soft lemony-yellow colored rope lights for her room, and I see Jasper tuck a mix CD into her book bag when nobody else is looking. I catch a glimpse of what looks like hand-drawn cover art, and I really want to go peek, but I restrain myself, hoping she'll show me later.

It's a good party. "Thirteen is going to be a good year," she tells me with a sugar-high grin; her bright blue eyes wide with pure birthday cheer. "Hurry up and turn thirteen so we can be teenagers together!"

"Hurry up, October!" I laugh back, nodding my agreement.

She raises her cup all the way up into the air and I raise mine, too. We clack them together in a topnotch toast and then race to drink all the punch. She wins, of course.

The seven of us from Alice's class head outside just as the sun starts to set. Carlisle and Esme have a huge back yard and everything is beautiful green in-bloom. It hasn't rained in a few days and I'm thankful. That means the grass and the dirt underneath it don't squish under my shoes when we venture off the patio.

Talking and trading jokes turns into tag after a while. I lean with Leah against a tree, but after a little while longer, tag turns into hide and seek, and that's a game I can play. I'm a excellent hider.

I sneak down next to Esme's huge peony bushes, surrounded immediately by the sweetest, floweriest smell. In the daylight I could probably be seen, but the moon is only a thumbnail shape tonight. Everything and everyone are only outlines.

Ally was _it _first. She caught Jasper, but he caught her back. She caught Leah after that, and then me, then Garrett, and then Angela. Everyone she caught got her back. It's her birthday night, after all. It's only right.

I can see her from where I am. She's edging closer to where I know Leah is hiding under the deck stairs. The antique bird bath in the middle of the yard is base, and as Alice takes a few silent steps closer to Leah, I rock onto the toes of my Mary Janes, ready to break for it.

The patio door sliding open catches me off guard though and I crouch quickly back down. The pink petals and green leaves tickle my bare legs as I crane my neck to see Edward, Petey and Ben all come running out.

They're all laughing, really laughing. They chase Ally first; Edward picks her up just to pull off one of her shoes. She chases him for it, but she can't catch him. She takes her other shoe off and throws it at his feet, trying to trip up his steps, but she misses. The grass and the dirt under nothing but her socks doesn't faze her in the least.

She laughs so hard that she has to stop and catch her breath. I smile so hard that I feel it in my cheeks.

"Where's your friend?" Edward asks, messing Ally's hair up as he walks past her, looking around.

I feel my smile as I watch him from my safe and secret distance.

"Ollie, Ollie, oxen free, Bliss! I'm going to find you," he calls, smiling. I catch the glimmer of his teeth in the thin moonlight.

Leah and Jasper, and everyone else runs from their hiding places one or two at a time, but I crouch even lower as Edward walks around. He stretches his neck and scans the perimeter, and the closer he gets, the further back I hide, and the higher my smile curves until I have to cover my mouth with both hands to keep my giggling in.

I can hear our friends further away, laughing and talking, but it's background noise to the sound of his black on black Converse in the grass.

"Am I getting warmer, B?" He steps close enough that within three or four more, I'll be caught. I've got no choice.

Popping up from the peonies, I take off as fast as I can, laughing from all the way down in my belly as I run right past Edward.

I'm no match, though. His legs are longer and the bird bath base looks forever and a day away.

"Run, Bliss! C'mon!" Alice calls, grinning from ear to triple pierced ear, jumping up and down.

It's hard enough to run in a dress and Ally just makes me laugh harder, and my laughter slows my running. I peek over my shoulder to see Edward close behind, and I know my escape is impossible.

He reaches both hands out, picking me up by my waist and for a few seconds, I'm flying.

It tickles my tummy. I scream and I laugh, and I hear him laughing. He spins me once before he puts me back down, flat on my own two feet.

"You're it," he tells me, his voice near the back of my ear as he takes his hands off me and my dress.

Alice jumps on his back as I turn around and all together; we're a grinning, moon-glimmering mess of gladness until parents finally come out and start collecting their kids to head home.

I tell my best friend she's right when we brush our teeth together before bed. Thirteen _is_ going to be a good year. I know it, and just a little later, when she's passed out under brand new light-yellow lights and I can't quite get comfortable, I can't help but think about pillows and sheets that smell like vanilla-woodsy-trouble.

And this time, I don't hesitate.


	6. Never Knew

**I do not own Twilight; I only cause them to make bad choices.**

**Special thanks to The Band Perry and their fireflies. Jack Johnson, Brushfire Fairytales and In Between The Dreams**. _Everything you know about me, baby, is gonna to have to change. You gonna have to call it by a brand new name._

_Until then, I'm just gonna have to lie to you._

**YellowGlue, I love you like Sunday morning.**

**LovelyBrutal is our beta.**

**Jack Johnson - Never Knew:** _We're shocking, but we're nothing. We're just moments. We're clever, but we're clueless. We're just human, amusing and confusing. We're trying, but where's all this leading?_

_We'll never know._

**Chapter 5 - Isabella Bliss (because he likes it so much better)**

Sometimes when Edward laughs, he holds his hands over his stomach and leans his head way far back.

He's doing it now.

"So what did the note say?" I ask again, trying my hardest not to blush.

Petey and Ben are laughing, too, but their laughs aren't as good as Edward's. When Peter laughs his cheeks turn an obnoxious red, and Ben falls to his side, covering his whole face with his hands.

It's a shame, he should show it to me sometime.

"Bella, you don't want to know what it said. You wouldn't even understand. You're too small. How old are you, twelve?" Peter shakes his head, looking at Edward for confirmation that he's right, I'm to young.

"My birthday is in three months; I'm almost thirteen." I sit up straight, pulling my hair into a high ponytail.

"Jesus," Edward mumbles under his breath. "You shouldn't be hangin' with us, Bliss."

He's probably right, but this is our thing.

Our secret.

Mine and theirs.

I don't know how it happened, or why we keep doing this, but it's wrong. I've managed to put away any warnings from my parents about boys, alcohol, drugs, and bad choices, and I've managed to spend at least three nights a week with these guys after my best friend, Alice, has gone to dream-land.

I don't even have to knock on Edward's door anymore. If they're here, I'm allowed in.

Sometimes we don't do anything, we'll just lie in Edward's bed and watch movies. Other times I'll sit around while they drink or smoke weed out of Edward's bedroom window. I've played video games with them a couple of different nights, but I'm not as good as they are. Edward gets frustrated with me, so my turns are few and far between.

I kind of have my own spot: in the corner between the night stand and the bed frame. Edward lets me use his pillows if I'm tired. I've fallen asleep while they do their thing more than once.

It's nice to be included.

No one mentions our late night hang-outs to Alice, and for some reason, I haven't either. It's some unspoken rule that this stays between us four, and I like that it's only mine. She has bed knobs and stolen shoes, and I have this: pillows, video games, and smoke outside windows.

"I'm closer to thirteen than I am to twelve. I'm not that young, and you're not that old, so shut up."

"I'm fifteen."

"You just turned fifteen two weeks ago, Edward." I try to keep my tone strong, but non-confrontational. I've been spending more and more time with Edward, and I know all about the hormones and mood-swings; it's not something I'd like to have aimed toward me … and it hasn't been yet, not really.

Edward stares, waiting for me to say something else. I don't. His eyebrows scrunch in the middle and he looks away, thinking too hard. Petey and Ben pretend to dismiss the sudden tension filling the smokey bedroom, but they're doing a terrible job at being inconspicuous. I sit back against the nightstand and exhale a long, frustrated breath.

_I wish I was older._

"What's the matter?" Ben sing-songs.

I sit up. "What did the note say, Pete?"

Ben rolls his eyes. Edward mumbles a few curse words under his breath and heads toward the window to light a cigarette. I ignore him.

Petey and Benny are sitting right in front of me. They look at each other, laugh, then look at me and exchanging words that sound something like: innocent, baby-child.

"You should probably go to bed, Bliss." Edward sits in the windowsill, holding a cigarette between his thumb and his pointer finger.

He smirks when I glare.

"Come on, princess-pie, it's past your bedtime." He's making fun of me. "Little girl," he adds when I don't react to the condescending way he calls me princess-pie.

It's usually so soft-spoken when he says it. Not now, though. He's being mean.

"I don't want to go to bed, Edward."

It's exactly what he wanted me to say, and I sound exactly how he wants me to sound: young.

I'm disregarded after that. Edward turns his back to me, leaning his arms on the windowsill, exhaling white smoke into the summertime air. He's too serious, and it bothers me.

"Still wanna know, Bliss?" Petey asks, back handing Ben in the chest.

_Idiots._

"Yeah." I sit Indian style, pressing Edward's pillow to my chest. I rub my cheek against the cool cotton, suppressing a sigh.

Edward scented pillows make me sleepy.

The dip-twins come a little closer. _They're so silly_, I laugh. Edward seems suddenly interested. He even smirks.

"Tell her." Ben elbows Pete.

"You tell her." Petey elbows Ben.

"It was your note."

"You want her to know."

"Kim's your girlfriend."

'"Is not!"

"Yes, she fucking is. That's what she told Vic."

Petey turns red; Ben won this argument. I hold onto Edward's pillow, hiding my smile in its case. Edward winks, flicking his cigarette outside.

"I'll tell her," Edward offers, shutting the window before sitting in front of me, between his friends. "You can't tell your dad, Bliss."

"I won't," I answer right away.

Edward belly laughs; the other boys do, too. "I can't believe I'm going to tell you this, princess."

_Feather soft._

"I won't tell. I promise."

"That's good." Edward shakes his head, finishing his laugh. "Your parents wouldn't let you over anymore if they knew I was contaminating your innocent mind, B."

"They won't know. I'm careful with my words."

Edward leans forward, circling a piece of my hair around his finger. He drops the lock and places his mouth right above my left ear. His hand his on my shoulder. His breath tickles my neck. Then he tells me what the note to Kim said.

I'm stunned-stupid and shocked.

Edward moves away, taking in my face: big eyed and drop-jawed. All three boys burst out laughing louder than they have all the nights we've been together combined.

"Wait, that happens? That can happen?" I ask, totally confused.

They look at me for a split second before their laughter continues to roll even louder than before. Petey is super red and Ben is on his side, hiding his face, and Edward is holding his belly with his head leaned way far back.

I'm still so confused.

.

.

.

I went to bed after the admission about the note. They boys wouldn't stop laughing at me, and my brain could not wrap itself around what Edward said, so I had to get out of there.

I mean, no wonder why he got in so much trouble for sneaking that letter in Kimberly's locker.

They're gross.

"Alice, do you know what a blowy is?" I'm sitting on the front porch with my elbows on my knees and my face on my palm.

Alice is skateboarding on her front driveway, barefoot and dirty faced. She giggles, kick-flipping her board. "Who told you that, Bliss?"

I lie. "I heard it on TV."

Alice rolls over to me. She sits on her board and peels back the grip tape. "I don't know. I kind of do." She's blushing. "Why?"

I shrug my shoulders, sitting in front of Alice on her board. "No reason." I lean back against Alice's chest; she moves us back and forth in small-little strides. "I just thought it was kind of weird."

"It is weird. It's gross." Alice wraps her arms around my chest, pushing us down the driveway. I pull my feet up before the gravel tears them up. Alice circles her legs around my waist, and together we scream as the damp summer wind blows in our faces. When we get to the bottom of the hill, we walk back up and do it again.

It's the closest I'll ever get to riding a skateboard.

We've been up and down the hill six times. Alice is trying to convince me to go alone now … standing up. It's not happening.

"I have a helmet, elbow pads, and knee pads," she insists, blowing her bangs out of her eyes.

"Knee pads?" Edward says from the other side of the front screen-door. "Little young, aren't we, princess-girl?" He's making fun of me again; it's because of what he told me last night about the blowy.

My eyes open wide, but it's Alice who screams, "Shut up, Edward!" A little vein pops up on her neck. "Go smoke a joint or something, you fucking loser."

"Alice!" Esme rebukes from somewhere inside of the house. "Language, please."

I pull at the ends of my jean shorts and snap my bra strap back onto my shoulder just as Edward and his stupid friends walk outside. I've been doing stuff outdoors with Alice all day. Maybe because I feel guilty for keeping secrets from her, or maybe because she constantly allows me to paint and brush her without a complaint; the least I can do is return the favor.

We went hiking through the woods, stuck our feet in the ice-cold mud, washed our faces in the stream behind the Cullen home, and rolled up and down the driveway on her board. If she would have begged a little longer, I probably would have put all the pads on and went down by myself like she wanted me to. Alice is hard to resist.

Only now I'm filthy dirty and probably smell how I look, and Edward is looking at my feet, shaking his head, smiling.

I curl my toes, trying to hide the little bit of grubby. I wipe my hands on my yellow tank top and smooth my unruly hair.

Petey and Ben are holding Alice upside down by her ankles. She loves it.

Edward licks his thumb and cleans off my cheek. I smack his hand away and try to move, but he chases me. He chases me to the garage, around the house, back up the driveway, and up the front porch.

He smells really good. He smells like his dad's cologne. He's dressed, too, ready to go.

I sit on the porch swing, tired of being chased. Edward sits beside me, tired of chasing. "Where are you going?" I ask. "Out," he answers.

I was kind of hoping he would stay home tonight.

Edward tickles the spot beneath my ear. "Smile, it's a rule."

I do. I smile. "A rule?"

"Yeah, rule number one is that you have to always smile when I'm around." He doesn't look at me, but I can see the color on his cheeks.

"Fine, but I have a rule, too." I use my dirty feet to rock the swing.

"What is it?"

"You have to always tell me where you're going."

"No."

"Yes."

"That's not even the same, Bella." Edward uses his Chucks to rock the swing.

"It's still a rule." I shrug. "And rule number three is that you have to follow rule number two, always."

"Fine, then rule number four is that you can't wear another boy's sweaters at the beach."

Garrett's face flashes through my mind. I remember his warmth and his sincerity.

"What about at school, or in a car, or at my house … at your house?" I joke, laughing at myself.

"I'm serious."

_Weird, he is serious. _

"Okay."

We're quiet after that, feeling a bit awkward. Edward pushes the swing; I lean my head back and close my eyes. Alice is laughing because Peter and Ben are harassing her. The setting sun feels good on my legs. I extend my toes, forgetting about how dirty they are. Everything is red behind my eyelids. I can feel a slight sweat forming at my hairline … I love late July.

I could sleep in the warm light.

Then: "I'm going to Victoria's."

I open my eyes and everything is distorted and blurry from the sun. Edward is looking at me, but then he turns away, patting his pockets for a cigarette. It's out of habit; he won't smoke with his parents around.

Two things happen next: An older Toyota pulls into the driveway for Edward, and Esme comes out onto the porch holding the house phone. "It's your mom, Bliss."

Edward runs his hand through his hair. "See ya," he mumbles, standing up. He kisses his mom on the cheek and heads toward the car. Victoria is in the front seat and her mom is driving. Alice flips her off, kicking dust at the car. Edward points his finger at her, talking sternly, but quietly.

"Hi, Mom," I say into the receiver, lightening my tone on purpose.

"I want you to come home tonight." The fight is already in her voice, but I don't want to go … not yet.

"One more night, please." I say it loud enough for Esme to hear. Her eyes soften. She touches my face, wiping off the same spot Edward tried to get earlier.

The car backs out of the driveway. Edward isn't looking at me.

"You've been there for two days, Bella. What are you doing there that you can't do here?" Mom is frustrated, blowing out nettled breathes. "Ask Alice to come here. I want you home."

I meet Esme's eyes, begging for help. I push a desperate tear out of my left eye. She holds out her hand for the phone. I hand it over.

"Hello, Renee." Her voice is as smooth as silk. "The girls and I just ordered pizza … yeah, just one more night. I can drive her home in the morning. Carlisle and I will be here all night … don't worry … yeah, I'm sorry, but if you would have called a little earlier—okay, see you tomorrow."

She winks like her son.

I place the phone to my ear and sigh.

"Don't do that to me again, Bella."

"Okay, Mom." I try to hide my excitement.

"I'll see you in the morning." She hangs up on me.

Alice and I play outside for a little longer, but when the sun goes down we head inside and shower. I can't believe how dirty I got, but I notice that I earned a couple of more sun-spots on my nose. My hair looks a little more strawberry than it does blonde, and my skin isn't so pale.

We're eating the pizza Esme ordered in front of the TV. Alice wanted to watch Fantasy Factory re-runs, but I pouted my bottom lip, begging to watch The Last Song on HBO instead.

I triumphed with the pouty lip.

Carlisle and Esme aren't staying in like she told my mom they were. I usually like to watch Esme dress while she gets ready for these important business dinners, but today my hunger took over. I'm on my third slice of margherita pizza; not ruling out a fourth.

"We should make cream soda floats after this," I say, filling my face with cheese and tomatoes.

"Okay," Alice agrees, making faces at Miley Cyrus. "Are we really watching this shit, Bliss?"

"It's like my second favorite movie!" I laugh, defending my love-story.

Alice drops her pizza, looking at me with a humorous smirk. "Oh, jeez, what's the first?"

"The Wizard of Oz."

"You are such a girl."

"What's yours?" I ask, knowing its going to be something scary or boy-like.

"Terminator II: Judgment Day and Miss Congeniality, but if you tell anyone I'll kill you while you sleep."

I die laughing.

Sometime around midnight, we head up to bed and crash out above the blankets.

We never made the floats.

.

.

.

"Isabella."

I bury my face deeper into Alice's piles of pillows.

"Bliss."

I roll myself into a ball, hiding from the voice.

"Princess-girl, wake up."

I open my eyes. "Leave me alone."

He laughs. I sit up. I cover my sleep breath with my hand.

Edward is kneeling on my side of the bed, holding a finger over his lips. "Quiet, baby girl."

I nod my head.

"Come outside with me." He holds his hand out. I take it, slowly slipping out of messy bed sheets. "You'll need this." He hands me his baseball hoodie. It has his name and number on the back. It slips over my warm-sleep-skin, surrounding me completely in vanilla and smoke smells. The inside cotton is worn and washed, but feels soft against my arms. I'll have to pull the sleeves up to my wrists if I want to use my hands, but not yet. I like hiding inside of something that is him for now. I feel protected.

"And shoes. Where are they?" Edward asks, looking around.

I point to my jellies by the door.

His hoodie drapes down to my mid-thigh. Edward drops my jellies at my feet, pulling the hoodie hood over my head. "It's kind of cold outside," he says, taking my hand, leading me out of the room.

Alice is dead to the world, never making a sound.

The house is dark and quiet. Carlisle and Esme are home from their dinner; the light from their TV shines beneath their bedroom door. I step extremely soft on my tippy-toes as we pass their room.

"What time is it?" I whisper, wondering if I can brush my teeth before we go.

"A little past three." Edward turns on the kitchen light. I blink, allowing my eyes to adjust. "I just got home." He almost seems apologetic. "I shouldn't have woken you up, but I'm not tired. You can go back to bed if you want."

He stands in front of the refrigerator with his hands in his pockets. He smells like pot. He looks like he's been lighting up.

"Do you want a cream soda float?" I ask, smiling.

"Yeah, that would be pretty fucking awesome."

We eat them outside in the woods, away from the house. He's sitting, leaned back against a tree, and I'm in front of him, sitting Indian style. It's still dark out, but I'm not afraid. I can hear little creatures crawling around, making their home in trees and dirt, but being out here before the sun comes up is comforting. Edward is telling me all about his night.

I love the sound of his voice in the outside dark.

He finished his float as soon as he sat down. He tries to eat mine, but I don't let him. It's mine. I've wanted it since margherita pizza slice two.

But his sad faces are hard to withstand.

"Is Victoria your girlfriend?" I ask, feeding him a spoonful of my ice cream.

He rolls his eyes, swallowing. "Why would you ask that?"

"I don't know. It just seems like she is."

"Why?"

"Because you're with her a lot. She calls the house. Her mom came to get you today. She wears your sunglasses. Oh, and you let her in your room with the door shut."

Edward smiles. "I let you in my room with the door shut, does that mean you're my girlfriend, Bliss?"

"No." I drink some vanilla cream soda. "But I'm different, and she's so pretty." Victoria is more than pretty, she's stunning, and it only becomes more apparent as time goes by.

It's hard to keep up with her dark hair and tanned skin. It's hard to look at. Victoria is a different kind of girl, intense and strong, and maybe she tries too hard, but her beauty will always cover her personality flaws.

She's sexy.

"You're prettier, Bella. Trust me." Edward leans back against the tree, closing his eyes. "And she isn't my girlfriend. It isn't like that."

"Why not? You kiss her. I saw you." He has to remember that day as well as I do.

It was the last day of school. She had her back facing the lockers. Victoria was dressed in a neon-pink spaghetti strap tank top, jean shorts, and a pair or Doc Marten boots. I remember standing there asking myself, _why would she choose to wear those boots with those shorts and that tank top?_ It was so odd. But then she saw me and waved. I waved back, but she didn't see because Edward was there. He leaned himself between her legs and kissed her on the mouth.

I've seen my parents kiss before. They kiss simply, guarded in front of me, but Carlisle and Esme, their kisses are full of passion. They kiss with their mouths open. They use their tongues. They laugh while they kiss … and touch tenderly. Carlisle will kiss Esme with his open mouth and lips, with his eyes closed, but after he kisses her like that, he'll kiss her a couple of more times with his mouth closed. Sweetly. It's so sweet I can I only stare and smile when they do it.

Edward did not kiss Victoria that way. He kissed her hard … with his tongue, but it wasn't sweet. He kissed her like he was mad … like he was trying to hurt her. It was probably really rude to stare, but I couldn't help it. I was stunned and dazed. Their kiss was outrageous and far from lovely, and he didn't kiss her with his lips afterward. He wiped off his mouth and moved away when he saw me.

"Later, Vic," he said, walking toward me.

"Sorry," I managed to squeak out, but Edward never acknowledged what had just happened. He put his arm over my shoulders and lead me out to the school parking lot where my dad was waiting for me.

This is the first time I've brought it up since it happened.

"I kiss her sometimes," he says carefully.

"What about other stuff?"

"I'm not talking to you about that, Bliss." He laughs, but it's a bitter laugh. "She's not my girlfriend. I don't—" he pauses. "I don't feel anything for her. Not like that."

"Then why do you kiss her?"

Both of his hands are in his hair. His cheeks are full of air. "Bella, come on." He's struggling to stay calm. His switch is so easily flipped.

"That stuff in the note, do you do that?" I ask.

"Do I let her suck my dick?" he spits, standing up. It sounds so much dirtier being said out loud. "Is that what you want to know, Bella? Why?"

"I'm only curious." I stand up, too. I'm not afraid of him, not like everyone else is. This is only Edward.

"You're little, Bella, stay little."

"You're only fifteen, act fifteen."

"You have no idea." He turns away from me.

"About what?" I cross my little arms over my chest. Then it occurs to me, his side-kicks aren't here. "Where are Petey and Ben?"

"Not here, obviously." Edward scoffs.

"Where?"

"Home."

"Why?"

"You're so fucking annoying." He laughs, looking at me over his shoulder.

"You're mean to me." I sound too young again. This is why he doesn't tell me stuff. I'm only twelve. I'm only a princess-baby to him.

"Rule number four: no fighting in the woods after we've had cream soda floats," he jokes in an attempt to soften the mood.

"Rule number five," I say, sitting back down. "Never keep a secret from me."

Edward turns around. "Maybe."

"Seems to me that maybe pretty much always means no."

"Then I'm just gonna have to lie to you," he whispers.

I smile. "Rule number six: no lies."

He shakes his head. "No. Rule number six: no promises."

"Okay," I agree easily. "No promises, ever."

"Promise?" he asks.

"Promise."

"And that's it."

"That's the only one."

.

.

.

On the way back to the house my jelly gets sucked into some unforgiving mud; it captures my shoe. Edward is trying to get it out, but it's too dark.

"We'll have to come look in the morning, Bella." He's bent over the mud, feeling around. "But I think it's been sucked into Hell."

"You're dumb."

Edward wipes his dirty hand on his jeans. "Sorry about your shoe, little girl."

I sigh. "Edward, rule number seven is that you cannot call me little girl anymore."

He takes my muddy foot and wipes away as much as he can while he says, "Rule number eight is that you can not make a rule for everything."

"Rule number nine is that you cannot make a rule to censor my rules."

He sets my foot back to the ground. "Okay, but rule number ten says we have a daily limit of created rules. Ten rules a day. That's it. Five for me, five for you."

"Fine."

"Fine." He smiles.

"You're a jerk."

"Jump on, Bliss." Edward bends down so I can hop up onto his back.

I lean my chin on his shoulder and breathe easy on the walk back. For someone who smokes so much, Edward does a good job carrying me home. We don't talk, we just walk and ride. The sun isn't up yet, but it's coming. The sky is a lighter dark, and it's easier to see. I can hear cars driving down the road in the far distance. I can hear birds chirping, waking up.

But he sees the fireflies before I do.

"Off, baby."

When I fall to my feet, Edward slowly steps forward. I wait for him. He's quiet, careful, sneaking up on the tree where they fly.

He catches one and brings it to me. "They're never as bright as they are on TV." He opens his hand and the flickering little bug is in sitting on his palm.

"You're right," I say. "But I love it anyway."

"Of course you do," he whispers, letting it go.

.

.

.

It's my thirteenth birthday and I already can't wait to be fourteen.

Mom and Dad didn't invite the Cullens over to celebrate with us this year. I was disappointed but didn't act so. It's a school night anyway, and spending some time with my parents at my dad's favorite diner isn't so bad.

"You're officially a teenager, Isabella Bliss. Do you feel any different?" Dad asks, scraping his fork against his plate as he tries to cut through his rib-eye.

_You have no idea how different I feel, Dad._

"No." I smile, eating my chicken fried steak. "I feel the same."

"Good, because you're still my little baby girl."

"I know, Dad." And I do, I just don't feel like I should be his little baby girl anymore. I'm tired of being so sheltered and protected by him.

While my parents talk about work and school and home, my mind wanders. School's been back in session for a couple of months and it's strange not having Edward around again. He attends the high school now, a freshman. He likes it. He loves it. He seems to think I'll like it there, too.

"You can just get lost, Bliss," he told me a few weeks ago.

"Well, I'll find you," I joked, lying next to him in his bed.

He was above the covers, and I was under.

Edward didn't have an answer for my little comment. He only smiled and turned the volume up on the television: his way of telling me that the conversation was over.

Spending so much time with him is kind of, sort of scary. Petey and Ben stay the night still, but never as often as they used to. They'll usually sleep over with Edward during the school week when I'm not allowed to. When the weekend comes, and I'm over with Alice, Edward will give us some lame excuse as to why the boys aren't there. But I think I know why.

Not this weekend, though, because everyone is spending the night over the Cullens': Jasper, Garrett, Petey, and Ben. Alice is having a small—secret-from-my-parents—birthday party for me. We're all going to make butterscotch sundaes and sleep in the living room. I told Ally I wanted to watch movies, but she scoffed before calling me stupid.

"We're not watching fucking movies, Bella. It's your birthday, so we're doing birthday shit." Her mouth is as bad as Edward's.

_One more day and the weekend is mine. _

After my family and I get done eating, Maria, our waitress, carries out a piece of chocolate cake and the entire place sings Happy Birthday to me. Mom has tears in her eyes and Dad smiles proudly.

Would he be proud to learn that I sleep in Edward's bed each weekend? That we sometimes sneak out into the woods and play our very own games of hide-and-go-seek? Would he be smiling this way if he knew I like to wear Edward's sweaters just as much as I like holding his hand?

I wish that he never has to find out before blowing out the candle.

There's a small box on the coffee table when we get home. Dad stands back with his hands in his pockets, and Mom holds the box in the palm of her hand. "Open it, baby."

I pull the pink ribbon and watch it fall free to the floor. I lift the top of the box, looking inside. There's another box, a smaller white one. I open the lid and smile.

"It's a charm necklace. I thought it would be better than the bracelet," Mom says, letting the back of her knuckles brush against my cheek.

"I love it."

Only one charm dangles from the chain: a silver B.

"It's actually called a Bliss Charm, believe it or not." Mom helps me secure the necklace around my neck. It's heavy, but not anything I won't get used to.

"Thank you," I whisper, holding the small B in my hand. I kiss my mom and hug my dad. We watch a little bit of TV before I decide I'm ready for bed. "I have school tomorrow," I tell them, sneaking the phone off of the receiver before I head upstairs.

The vanity in my bedroom is covered in birthday cards and flowers. Esme had a bouquet of red, orange, and violet cosmos sent to me at school. Alice informed me that the cosmos is actually the October birth flower, which made them extra special.

"Flowers a la Isabella Bliss," Ally said, kissing my cheek.

They've made my room smell amazing.

Garrett made me a card, and it had the most amazing drawn portrait of me inside. I didn't even know he can draw … apparently he can, and apparently he's incredible.

Jasper bought me a single Twinkie for my birthday, and in that moment, it was the best present I had ever been given. My love for anything sweet and sugary is beyond description. I ate the Twinkie before I had a chance to say thank you. He said next year he'll buy me the entire box … maybe two.

Lauren and Leah didn't get me anything, but their smiles and good wishes were enough. Alice called me stupid again, but it's the truth. Good friends are hard to find and I have many.

"Well, the presents from me and my family are at the house," Alice said with a mouth full of peanut butter and jam sandwich. "You can get them this weekend."

"Okay," I said, smelling my flowers.

"Oh," She put up her finger. "Mom bought us wine coolers." She fist-pumped.

I smile to myself, thinking about my day. I haven't seen or heard from Edward at all. Not that I really expected to.

Okay, yeah I did. It's why I brought the phone to bed. I have a good feeling because it's my birthday. He'll call.

He's in my thoughts as I change into the new purple flannel pajama pants Mom bought me. I slip into the matching long sleeve top and jump into bed, turning off my lamp, but not before turning the ringer down on low.

Ten minutes later, it rings.

"Happy Birthday, Isabella Bliss."

"Thank you, Edward."

.

.

.

The next day at school, I'm daydreaming all afternoon. Alice snaps her thumb in front of my face; the ties from her half of our friendship bracelets tickle my nose. I smile, sitting up straight over my algebra book.

"I'm tired. My parents had me up late last night," I mention, lying. I was on the phone until after midnight.

Alice, who has a black-cherry Blow-Pop in her mouth, nods her head. She bunches up her sweater and moves my math book away from my desk. "Catch some sleep then, B. We have a long night ahead of us."

I roll my eyes, but take her advice. Her sweater smells like Alice: pine cones and Love Spell: fresh.

"I like your necklace, by the way," she adds before grabbing my paper to do my class work for me.

Best friend ever.

I feel better at lunch. I didn't really fall asleep in class, but I rested my eyes. I need to snap out of this haze; I need to be myself before someone other than Alice notices. I can always use the same excuse I used on her, but eventually I'll give myself away if I don't stop.

_What's there to give away, anyway?_ I don't know.

I don't understand what's going on between me and Edward. I know why we keep what we do a secret … it would change everything if it didn't remain just ours. If his parents discovered I was sneaking into his room at night, they'd probably feel obligated to enlighten my mom and dad. And how would Alice feel? I don't ever want her to think that I'm only her friend because of her brother, because that's not it at all. She is my very best friend most of all, but she can't know. Not even her.

I guess this makes me a liar.

I'm not willing to let anyone know the truth, though. I won't give my time with him up.

We don't even do anything that's important. We eat ice cream in the woods and watch TV in his room. I sleep, and Edward does whatever it is that he does while I sleep. Maybe he sleeps, too. I think he does sometimes. We hold hands, but that's it. Last night was actually the very first night he called me on the phone.

I can sense that I'm burying myself in a bigger hole each time I'm with him, but I can't help myself. I want to be around him. Edward and I haven't talked about why we keep our relationship a secret, but the reason is already laid out: we would be taken away from each other. It's still unclear as to why that would be so devastating, but it would be, and I'm willing to do whatever I have to do to keep it from happening.

For now it's our secret.

"Did you hear about your brother, Alice?" Kim asks from across the lunch table.

Kimberly always makes it impossible to forget that she's with Petey. If you ask Pete, he'll deny it, but they're together in a way. I've seen them kiss and hold hands, and sometimes when he's over the Cullens' house, they talk on the phone.

I think he likes to have her attached to him, but he isn't loyal to her. He's in high school, and Kim is here with me in the eight grade. She can talk all she wants, but Alice and I recognize the truth, and we are far more acquainted with Petey than she'll ever be.

But Alice loves it when Kim plays this game. When she pretends to know the boys and her brother better than she does.

"I haven't heard anything about Edward, Kim, but Pete did bring his new girlfriend to the house on Tuesday. Kate, I think her name is. Nice, not slutty like you." Ally shoves an orange slice in her mouth and smiles an orange-peel smile.

Jasper snorts, looking in Alice's mischievous eyes. She pulls the orange-peel out of her mouth and throws it at Kim. Charlotte screams.

"Now what were you saying about my brother?"

Kim looks like she's about to cry, and I feel bad. It probably doesn't feel good to learn again and again that the person who you think is your boyfriend doesn't return the feelings. But she does this to herself. All Kim has to do is shut up and leave Alice alone.

She never does.

"Actually, I was going to ask if you've heard that your brother had sex with Victoria, but since you seem to already know everything…"

I don't skip a beat; my heart rate accelerates and my hands want to shake, but I remain perfectly still. I roll my eyes at Kim and nudge Alice with my elbow. "Don't listen to her, Ally."

Lauren is arguing back and forth with Kim, sticking up for Alice. My insides are falling apart and my heart is in my throat, but I don't let it show. Turns out I'm better at this than I thought.

"You're a fucking liar," Alice hisses. Next thing I know, Alice's dirty Vans are launching her off of the lunch table bench toward Kim. Jasper and I both try to catch her, but we're not quick enough. Alice has Kim in a head-lock before either one of us can stand up.

After Alice is taken into the office, where she'll be suspended from school for two days, I go into the girls' restroom. I drop my backpack onto the counter and turn on the cold water. I feel numb … the cold water is the same temperature as my skin. I wet a brown paper towel and blot my face, careful enough not to get my bangs wet. I allow my hands to shake and my chin to tremble.

I wish I could call him and ask if what Kim said is true.

I stand, looking in the mirror long after the class bell has rung. I stare at my freckles and my hair, my pouty lips and my pale skin. My greeneyes stare back at me, not completely convinced. I pull Alice's red lip stick my bookbag and apply some on my lips. I fluff up my hair and pinch my cheeks until they're pink.

I'm not this girl. I'm not hard like Victoria. I'm not sexy … not like that.

I fix my hair and wipe the lipstick off, applying my light pink lip-gloss instead.

I don't know what part of me hurts, or where they come from, but I allow myself a couple of tears before I wipe them away and stand straight. I'm important to Edward, and if what Kim said is true, I'll be crushed, but Victoria is just someone I'll have to deal with until … I don't know … until I know something.

The school day is over and Esme is waiting out front for me. "Alice isn't allowed on school grounds until Wednesday, but she's at home waiting for you," she says.

I slip into the Mercedes, relieved that she was here to pick me up. "I didn't think I would be allowed over."

Esme scoffs. "Why, because my daughter can't control her temper? She's nothing compared to Edward, and I wouldn't let this ruin your party."

If it was I who has been in a fistfight, and my parents had to come get me early from school because I was being suspended, I wouldn't be seeing the light of day for a month. Alice and Edward don't fear their parents at all, and why should they? Carlisle and Esme do nothing they should be afraid of.

Esme and I chit-chat a little on the drive home. She talks about her husband's clients and how much she hates their wives. "I have to go on these dinners and pretend to love these women, when in all actuality, I would rather be at home hanging out with my kids."

"That must be hard," I say, smiling. I love to hear her speak about her life. It's so fancy and so far-flung from what I experience at home.

"It is hard, Bella. You have no idea …" She goes on and on and on. I'm spell-bound.

Alice is waiting on the porch dressed in a Bad Religion band-tee tied at her hip and light blue boyfriend jeans. She has on the black ballet flats I bought for her on her birthday this year. She points to them so I'll notice, but I already have.

"It's so unfair," she whines as I step onto the porch.

I kiss her forehead and hold her hand. "You can't hit people, Alice."

"But you heard what she said."

I sigh. "Yeah, I did."

She smiles. "Petey called Kim when he got home today. He totally went off on her. She was crying."

The high school students are released from school two hours before the middle school students are. The boys are always home before us, but today Alice beat us all here.

"They're here?" I ask, trying to look through the screen door.

"No, actually they left a while ago. Something about meeting up with some guy named Dimetri. I don't know, but they'll be back for your little party." We scream and run inside.

It looks like Autumn has exploded inside of the Cullen home. There are a dozen or so bouquets of flowers like the one Esme had sent to my school placed all over the living room and kitchen. There is a fake scarecrow in the corner and fake pumpkins on the entertainment center and bookshelf. The air smells like pumpkin spice and eggnog. The coffee table is full of presents, the kitchen is full of food, and Carlisle is here, dressed in his jeans and Converse again.

"This feels like Thanksgiving," I whisper, gripping Alice's hand.

"Well, it's not. It's your birthday."

"Come look in the kitchen." Alice pulls me along. Esme stands in front of the oven like a proud mother. "She didn't make a thing, so don't fall for it," Alice jokes with her mom. Esme rolls her eyes and admits she cooked nothing.

On the counter, right next to the small chocolate fountain is cut up fruit and Rice Krispie treats. There's Twinkies and brownies and cupcakes. Alice opens the freezer and the ice cream for our butterscotch sundaes is in there.

Alice opens the fridge and two four-packs of Bartles & James strawberry wine coolers sit on the top shelf next to the milk. "We're going to have so much fun."

Carlisle and Esme laugh.

It takes me an hour to drink one. I'm sitting at the counter eating a Twinkie, forcing down the last few drops from my bottle when Edward, Ben, and Petey come though the front door. Edward and I make eye contact, he smiles and runs upstairs to his room. Ben and Petey stay behind.

"Little sisters aren't so little anymore." Petey laughs, hugging me from behind. I fall into his chest, feeling a little bit woozy. "Happy birthday," he whispers kissing my temple.

"Thank you," I say, shoving the rest of the Twinkie in my mouth.

Ben pulls my hair and says, "You're still little to me."

"Jeez, thanks." I roll my eyes, mouth full of yellow sponge.

As soon as my bottle is empty Alice gives me a refill; she's already halfway through her third. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are glossy. She's bouncing all over the place, begging her dad to let her skateboard in the house. He says no and she settles for sitting in his lap, eating a brownie.

Edward comes down, quickly mumbling a happy birthday as he opens the fridge and pulls out the Coke. He lines up three red cups, pouring Captain Morgan in each one of them before splashing some soda on top.

"Take it easy, Edward," Carlisle warns with humor in his tone.

"Sure, Dad." Edward rolls his eyes, taking a drink from his cup. "Are you ready to party, party-girl?" he asks with a silly grin, standing on the other side of the kitchen island. I'm not going to let what I learned today tamper with my birthday-happy. I'll ask him when I can.

"I am!" Alice stands, taking her bottle and mine before jetting out of the kitchen into the living room. Petey and Ben are right behind her. I'm next to follow, already light on my feet. I hear Edward chuckle, but I ignore him.

The front door opens, almost smacking me in the face. Edward pulls me out of the way using the back of my sweater. It's the neighbors from down the street with a bottle of wine. The lady and the man bypass Edward and I, heading straight into the kitchen where Carlisle is already pulling down wine glasses.

"They'll be out of our way all night," Edward whispers, releasing my sweater. He walks past me, sitting next to Petey on the smaller sofa. I sit next to Alice.

"Open your presents." She hands me a small gift bag.

"But Jasper and Garrett aren't here yet."

"Do you need them to hold your hand or something, Bliss?" Edward says, messing with the stereo remote.

"No," I shoot, "but I don't want to be rude."

"You won't be. Open your presents." He never even looks at me.

The house fills with music, drowning out all the smaller noises. The bass vibrates through my chest, sending adrenaline through my veins. Edward is looking at me now, smiling, smirking. He lifts his eyebrows and takes a drink from his cup.

Alice snags the little gift bag out of my hand and replaces it with a larger box instead. "Hold on, let me get my parents," she says over the music. "That one is from Dad."

I shake the box. Petey and Ben call me a cheater. Edward looks uninterested. I know better.

Carlisle, Esme and their friends step into the living room, holding their glasses of wine. Carlisle puts his arm over Esme's shoulder, leaning back against the wall. They're both smiling.

Alice drops down in front of me, blowing her bangs out of her blue eyes. "Open, open, open!" She claps her hands, looking from her parents to me. "You're going to love it."

I rip the wrapping paper off slowly; Alice decides I'm going too slowly and takes over, dropping the unwrapped box onto my lap.

_My parents are going to be so mad._

"We all got one, look—" Alice pulls her cell phone out of her back pocket. "iPhones. Cool, right? It's been so hard keeping this a secret from you all day."

I can just hear my parents already: _Y__ou're too young. You need to give it back. You're our daughter, not theirs. You're only thirteen, Isabella._

I smile toward Carlisle and Esme. They light up.

Alice turns on my phone, quickly showing me how use it. "We're already programmed in your contacts. I did it for you last night."

I scroll through the numbers I already have: Alice. Carlisle. Dusty. Esme. Home.

Not my home. Their home. This home. Not the home I share with my parents.

I look over at Edward. He's typing something on his cell phone. My phone beeps. It says I have a message from Dusty. Alice laughs, complaining she wanted to be the first person to text me.

I check the text: _Hey, princess._

I know exactly what this means.

I drop the phone onto the couch and get up to give my second parents the biggest hug ever.

After my ecstatic and glee-filled _thank you, thank you, thank you_ to Carlisle and Esme, I open the rest of my presents. Alice gives me a small skateboard charm for my necklace. Esme said my mom had mentioned the gift to her in passing, and she thought it would be nice to give me a few more charms. She gave me a lipstick charm.

It was already feeling like too much, but there was still an entire table of presents left. Esme got me some new jeans and a few tops. She bought me a make-up kit that looked just as expensive as the phone.

"It's nice to be able to buy someone this stuff," she says, kidding with Alice. Alice sticks her tongue out, gulping the rest of her third wine cooler.

Jasper and Garrett show up between another new pair of pants and a dress my parents will never let me wear out of the house.

Edward subtly ignores me the entire time I open my presents, but he's watching. After Garrett is there, he's really watching.

I hold the dress up. It's short, short with an elastic waist band and super thin off white, sleeveless top. The floral design around the skirt portion is really pretty and not as tight as the top, but this is not something I can wear at home. It's definitely one of my favorite gifts. Not only because it's pretty, but because it shows I'm getting older. I like that Esme recognizes that.

"Put it on!" Alice grabs it from me and tosses it to Garrett, who looks a little afraid. Alice pushes me back on the couch, lifts up my leg and pulls off my black boot.

"Alice." I laugh, crying. "I can go into the bathroom."

She peels off my sock. I wiggle my toes. I just painted them, and they're pretty.

Carlisle, Esme, and their friends choose now to leave the living room to the kids.

"Alice, take her in the bathroom," Edward says, sounding annoyed. Petey and Ben have their eyes covered with their hands, but they're both looking.

Off goes my other boot and sock. "Stand up." Alice pulls me to my bare feet. She pulls down my black cardigan, leaving me in a white tank-top. The dress goes over. She unbuttons my jeans and pulls them down my legs.

Jasper and Garrett are both looking away.

Edward looks livid.

I ignore him, drinking some more of my wine cooler.

"There!" Alice tosses my jeans over her shoulder. "You look fucking beautiful, Bliss."

Everyone is looking now, but I don't blush. I do look beautiful. The curves of my breasts are snug from the tight top. The skirt of the dress reaches above mid-thigh. I sway my hips and laugh as the material tickles my skin.

I hand Alice my bottle and run my fingers through my hair, separating my curls. I do a circle on my tippy-toes, loving the way I feel.

I feel older.

I don't look at Edward, but I want to.

"One more, Bella." Alice hands me the last box. I sit back down next to Garrett and smile. He smiles back. I want to touch his smile; It's so perfect. I wonder if he knows?

I'm not careful about the paper anymore, I rip it off and lift the box top, and inside are my very own wedges—my very first pair.

I almost cry.

Jute and cream colored, the wedges are peep-toed and just high enough. I slip my feet into them; they fit perfectly. They match my dress and feel flawless. I lift my foot to show everyone, this time looking directly at Edward.

He smirks.

Then I get up and move around the living room, showing off my new dress and shoes. I run into the kitchen and thank Esme a million more times. She's so glad I like everything. Carlisle puts his arm around my shoulders and introduces me to the neighbors as his third child, Isabella.

"She isn't mine, but I love her like she is," and "She's Chief Swan's, but I may take her from him."

When I make it back out into the living room, Alice is up and dancing in the tissue and wrapping paper.

Want to know something really silly about Alice? She's the best dancer ever.

Edward and his boys are still laid back on the couch, drinking out of their red cups. Jasper and Garrett are laughing with Alice. She sees me and pulls me in. Party and Bullshit is thudding out of the speakers; I can feel it in my bones. I try to follow how she dances, but I'm not as good as her.

"Oh my god!" She stops, pointing a finger at me. "Let's do a shot. Our first shots ever!"

I smile.

Edward lines up five shot glasses. I count them, noticing that we're two short. "Edward, you need two more glasses."

He looks at me briefly. "Oh, do you guys want one?" he asks Jazz and Garrett in a disregarding manner.

They both decline.

"You can share with me," I tell Garrett. He says okay.

Edward doesn't say anything, he just pours. "To Isabella Bliss on her sweet little thirteenth birthday." He's making fun of me again. He even winks before he throws his booze back.

I smell the colored liquor before I set my lips on the rim. It's the same stuff we drank in his room that one night. No Sprite this time.

Alice takes hers and screams, "It's like a liquid inferno!"

I toss mine back, leaving a quarter of it for Garrett.

We're back in the living room; I feel really good after the shot and decide to lay off the coolers for a while. We're all talking, even Edward, and laughing and joking. We're having a good time, and I'm thinking this may be the best birthday ever. I've forgotten about earlier, I'm a teeny-bit drunk, Alice is dancing, Jasper is talking to her with his eyes, Garrett is next to me all warm and smiling, and Edward isn't giving him dirty looks.

Petey is talking about school and how cool Edward thinks he is. For some reason Ben teases Petey about Kim, so Alice stops dancing to reenact the entire fight. Everyone is birthday-happy laughing.

I'm thinking that this night can last forever if it wants to.

But then the door bell rings, and Edward says, "The Sluts are here."

I have no idea who the "Sluts" are, but I have a pretty good idea.

Petey jumps up to answer the door. I don't even look at him … at Edward. He has to know I know about him and Victoria. Edward and I are nothing, we're moments, but I thought maybe we were trying to be a little more. I don't know what I thought, but I thought it was more than this.

Pete answers the door. I try to smile, seeing Victoria holding up a bottle of vodka. "The party's here!" she says.

"What the fuck is she doing here?" Alice asks, acting a little over dramatic.

Petey slams the door in Victoria's face. I laugh. "What, no Sluts? Should they go home?" He's really asking her. Petey would send them home if Alice said to.

"Yes!" she shrieks. "Dammit, Edward. Stop bringing your whore girlfriend to my house."

Edward doesn't say a thing. He just smiles and drinks.

"Let her in," I say, standing up to meet her at the door.

Edward looks at me over his red cup. His eyes look confused. He invited her here because I invited Garrett. He thought I would send her away. But he doesn't get it, because I don't have sex with Garrett. I've never even kissed a boy. This hurts much worse than Garrett's presence.

Petey opens the door. "Sluts," he greets them. It's Victoria and another girl. Mixie, Petey tells me her name is. "She goes to our school."

"Little sister." Victoria gives me a hug, introduces me to her friend Mixie, and tells me how grown-up I look. "It's probably the dress. You're only, like, thirteen, right?'

"Yeah," I say, moving back toward the couch.

Edward is messing with the stereo again. Victoria tries to kiss him; he mumbles something and turns his head. She sits down.

"So you're drinking?" She nods toward the empty cooler bottle. "I was drinking way harder shit than that when I was thirteen. You're so cute, Bliss."

"It's Bella," Edward and I correct her at the same time.

The party goes on after that. Victoria and Mixie suck on their vodka bottle. They eventually get up and dance with Alice, but Alice calls them skanks and makes fun of them the entire time. I try not to laugh, but it's so dang funny.

I don't let him bother me.

Edward messed up, and he knows it. He doesn't want her here any more than I do.

"Do you want a drink, Bliss?" Edward asks, taking my empty bottle for me.

"Sure," I say, watching Alice, not Edward.

"Come with me." Then he's gone into the kitchen.

I follow. The kitchen is empty. Carlisle and Esme have taken their party out onto the back porch. Their music is different from ours, but I can see them through the window and they laugh the same way.

I sit on the bar stool in front of the island. Edward stands on the other side. He doesn't watch me sit; he drops some ice in my cup and pours the liquor over it.

I dip a pineapple in some chocolate.

"I know what you heard today," he says quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

He chuckles, finally looking at me. "I have no fucking clue, Bliss."

"She shouldn't be here," I say, dipping a strawberry this time.

"I know." Edward sets the cup in front of me.

We're quiet. I eat fruit and he stares, sighing.

"I have something for you. Actually, I have a couple of things for you. One of them is from me, Petey, and Ben. Do you want it now?"

I shrug. "Sure."

"Come on."

We hold hands for a half of a moment.

The four of us are in Edward's room; I love the familiarity. The window is open and the TV is off. The three boys sit in front of me.

"What are you guys doing?" I ask, totally confused.

"Only a couple of hits. Don't get her too fucked up," Edward says, placing a joint at the corner of his lips.

Petey and Ben do the same thing.

I giggle.

All three of them light their lighters at the same time. "Happy birthday, princess-baby," Edward says, taking a deep hit.

Petey and Ben take hits, too.

All three of them hold the smoke in their lungs, coming a little closer, a little closer, and a little closer, until they are right in front of my face.

Edward holds up his hand, counting: one, two, three.

On three they blow smoke in my face.

They do it four more times.

"Oh my God," I say, falling back. My hair fans around my head; my arms are extended at my sides.

"Dude," Pete chokes, really smoking now. "She's so fucked up."

Edward leans over me. I want to kiss him. "Are you okay, baby?" he whispers very, very quietly. Petey and Ben are out the window.

"I feel tingly."

Edward laughs, taking my hand. "Don't say shit like that to me, Bliss. You're too young ... you have no clue."

He helps me up. My heart is racing. I ask Edward if I'm having a heart attack. He tells me no, you're too young to have a heart attack. I remind him that I'm thirteen. He says _exactly_. Edward pushes me onto his bed. I hold my dress down. He's beside me. "I can kiss you like she does," I say, looking up at him, biting my bottom lip.

"I know you can," he whispers, keeping quiet.

I sit up, looking him in the eye. "We can ... me and you, like you do with her." I don't know why I say it.

Edward gets up, walks away, smokes the rest of his weed out the window with Petey and Ben.

Carlisle complains about ashes from below.

We're in the kitchen because I'm starving. I'm eating all of the Twinkies and drinking the Seven-Up right out of the two-liter. Petey, Ben, and Edward are dying. I've never been so hungry in my life.

"Will you make me a peanut butter and jelly?" I ask Edward.

He does.

"Best sandwich ever!" I say, third bite in.

Esme and Carlisle come inside to grab another wine bottle. They take one look at me and laugh like the boys.

"Edward!" Esme smacks him in the chest. She kisses his cheek and asks him to keep an eye on me. "Your parents would kill me, Bliss," she says, handing me a large glass of water.

"She didn't smoke. Not really," Edward tells her, making me a second sandwich.

I keep eating. Then I start laughing and don't stop.

It's two-thirty in the morning and Alice is passed out face down on the couch. Esme takes her flats off, covering her with a blanket. Carlisle is in the kitchen with Petey and Ben, lecturing the slackers about "_doing something important with your life," _and about_ "the importance of being important."_ Carlisle is drunk.

Jasper and Garrett are sleeping on the floor. They have been for a while. I like to watch them.

I'm not hungry anymore; I'm not even laughing, but I'm not ready for bed. And the only ones who seem to be partying anymore are Victoria and Mixie.

Vic shakes her ass in front of Edward even though the music has been off. She tries to kiss him and sit in his lap. He pushes her away. "My fucking parents are here, Vic. Have some respect."

She tries to start a fight. Edward tells her to leave.

Soon enough, everyone is asleep and it's just me and Edward. We're on the large couch in the living room, watching music videos on MTV. He's still drinking. I'm curled into his side.

"Let's go to bed," he whispers.

Pete and Ben are on the floor next to Jasper and Garrett.

"Okay," I say, tip-toeing around sleeping bodies.

His room is cold from the window being left open. The faint scent of weed mixes with Edward's usual vanilla and trouble. I take my feet out of my brand-new wedges and slip under the covers, setting an alarm on my cell phone to wake me up at five.

"Set it to seven, baby. Everyone will sleep in." Edward is changing out of his clothes. I don't watch.

He comes to bed holding a gift bag. "Here." He sets it in front of me.

I sit up, smiling like a lunatic. I rip out the tissue paper and reach inside. It's his baseball sweater. I pull it out and hold it to my nose.

"Is it dumb that I gave it to you?" he asks, laughing.

"No." I get out of bed. "Turn around," I say. He watches me for a moment longer before turning around.

I tug out of my dress, lay it neatly on his dresser, and pull the sweater over my head. "You can look, but be careful because I'm in my undies."

Edward holds his hand out for me, I take it. He plays with my fingers, tickling my arm until I fall asleep.

The alarm goes off at seven a.m.

When I wake up, Edward has his arm over me, holding me close. I don't want to move, but I do, taking my dress and my shoes with me.

In Alice's room, I put on a pair of sweats and one of her band shirts, hiding Edward's sweater at the bottom of my overnight bag. I look at myself in the mirror for a minute.

I look until I smile … I can't help it.


	7. Give It Up

**We do not own Twilight, just pink lemonade and fluffy purple pot, and more nail polish than any two girls maybe ever should. (**_Word!_**)**

**Thank you guys all so so much. TeamBella is my jar of hearts, more full of feelings than you can even imagine. I am beyond thankful to and for you, sunshinebaby. I love you like cream soda floats and red cups. Lovelykkbabybrutal is our beta and prereader girl. I love you dark little lily :) **

**Tim and Jean - Give It Up: **_Wake up, girl. We're in the middle of a selfish world with no money and no strings of pearl. You know you'll wind up with me..._

**Chapter Six – Bliss Baby**

No one is more aware of my age than me.

Even if I could forget or imagine for just a few minutes that I'm a couple of years older, Edward is a consistent reminder that I'm not. I'm only thirteen, and there's so much I don't even know.

I don't see why it matters so much. It's just a number. It measures my years, not what I know, not how I feel. I should be able to decide what I want and what I'm ready for, not my age.

Edward disagrees. It's probably the only thing he and my parents have in common. He's quick to change the subject whenever I point out its unimportance, but that in itself is a reminder. He's two years ahead of me, always.

"So what?" I protested a few nights ago. He'd been in the middle of telling me about the birthday party Petey had the night before and had started skipping over stuff.

We were both on top of his blankets, sharing a bag of candy that Alice had bought for me earlier that afternoon. It was obvious he was leaving parts of the story out because they were things I didn't know about, things he didn't think I should.

"Explain things to me," I said, half sitting up in an effort to underline my seriousness. "Tell me about stuff I don't know, and then I will know. I'm not a baby, Edward. Show me things."

Edward shook his head, smirking his cocky-crooked smirk with his lashes down, hiding his sky-beautiful blue. He ignored my request and reached for the candy in my hands. "Gimme the Reese's Pieces, baby Bliss."

He emphasized the _baby _to make me feel small, but it had the opposite effect. Sometimes it does, but not when we're just us. His tone is different when it's just him and me, in his room with the door closed. It doesn't bother me if he calls me baby, little bit, or princess pie, because he says it so much ... lighter.

Less like an insult and more like a sweet secret.

"Gimme those." I laughed, letting the subject drop. He poured the peanut butter pieces into his hand and started picking all the yellow ones out. On purpose, I knew, because they're my favorite.

I reached for the pieces in his hands but got the bag instead. There were a few candies left, but only two yellows, and I don't care what anyone says, the yellow ones taste different. They're the best.

I'm a candy connoisseur.

Edward was still laughing a little, eating all the yellows and handing the oranges and browns back.

"Rule twenty two," I told him, dipping my bare feet under his messy warm blankets, dropping the less fantastic pieces back into the bag. "The yellow Reese's Pieces are always mine. Always."

Just as I spoke, I went to take the single yellow hard-shell candy from my palmful of too many oranges, and Edward spied it. It was the last one.

"Yeah, right!" He smiled higher; mischief lit his blue as he reached to take it from me.

I sort of squeak-giggled and closed my hand around the last, most precious piece, and tucked my fist under my back.

Edward attacked me with both hands and both arms, reaching for the candy. We belly laughed between tangled limbs and blankets, and before he could get the last little yellow piece of deliciousness, I popped it past my lips.

"Ha ha." I grinned, half underneath him. He was still laughing, and I could smell and feel him everywhere: pot from the joint hours earlier, boy soap, strong-hard arms, messy copper-brown and the best shade of blue—he surrounded me.

I pressed the candy piece to the roof of my mouth, not biting into it yet. The suction made a small sound behind my smile, and Edward lifted his left eyebrow a little. I had his attention, all of it. It made my stomach flip-flop.

"You can have it if you still want it," I offered, opening my mouth a bit to show him the candy on my tongue.

His grin turned into a smirk and he shook his head, calling me a _tease-baby_ as he sat back up.

I bet he doesn't call Victoria a tease.

_Probably because no one can._

I bet he doesn't call her baby either.

_I hope he doesn't._

Alice tugs me from my thoughts with her hand.

We're in the back row of AP English with our eyes glued to the clock above the blackboard. At least that's where they were. We're both looking down now, under our shared table-desk for two.

She's drawing a heart on the tip of my left index finger with her skinny purple sharpie. I'm watching with a smile, day-dreaming about the weekend that's only a half an hour away, but it feels like it's taking forever. I'm also trying not to think about things that bother me more than usual lately, like my age and Victoria.

I was jealous of her at first, and I still sort of am, but that's not really the right word. She gets parts of Edward that I don't, but she doesn't get the best of him. She doesn't get to curl up in his bed and tangle-fight over Reese's Pieces. She doesn't get to wake up in the morning to his dreamy sleep smile and his right arm around her waist. She doesn't have the softest, warmest, most-best smelling baseball hoodie ever in the whole world.

She gets his more grown-up kind of attention, but he calls her a slut behind her back, and sometimes, right in front of her face. They kiss on the mouth, but he doesn't use his lips. They have sex, but he doesn't like her, not really. He's not nice to her like he is to me. He doesn't respect her.

_Respect._

Alice hands me her marker, and I turn the word over in my mind while I draw a matching heart on her finger.

It's a word my mom has always made sure I understood the importance of: respect. It means I don't have to let anyone that I'm not one-hundred-percent comfortable with inside of my body space. It means telling the truth.

It means treating people like people, not objects. Not using them.

It means caring about how your words and actions affect other people, especially people you love.

Respect is also a kind of a double-edged sword in this situation. On one hand, I hate that Edward treats me like a kid, like I couldn't handle the things he does with Victoria or whoever else, even if he's doing it because he respects me. It's still frustrating. On the other hand, I'd probably cry for days if he ever called me the names I've heard him call her.

It's like there's no in-between with him, which sucks, but if I have to be on one side or the other, I'd definitely rather be a _pretty, pretty princess baby_ than a_ dumb fucking slut._

I sigh as I turn Ally's fingers over in my hand, rubbing my thumb over chipped _Midnight Blue Special._

_No_, I decide, _I'm not really jealous of Victoria._

_But I don't have to like her._

Mr. Birdy drones on about Nick and Gatsby, and I tap my fingertips to Alice's. _Tip-tap-tip-tap-tip_. "Let me paint your nails tonight," I whisper close to her blondie-blonde hair.

She smiles and blows air at my loose blondie-red curls. "Only if you let me paint yours," she whispers back. "And I get to pick what color."

I keep my laugh quiet as we glance up at the same time to look like we're paying attention. I know she's going to choose black. She's been asking for weeks now. I've been refusing for no particular reason, just because it's fun and funny to play up our oppositeness.

"Deal," I whisper, glancing back to her.

She all but bounces in her seat and smiles the biggest, goofiest grin. It makes me goofy smile, too, and it takes over everything else in my head. You can't not smile when Alice does. When she's this kind of super happy, she smiles to the sky and back, and she takes everyone close enough to reach right along with her.

Our lockers are at opposite ends of the eighth grade hall since our last names are so far apart, but it doesn't really matter. It's Friday, and when the bell rings, we're free to go; we continue our conversation from one end of the hall to the other.

"I'm so glad you finally get to come over again!" Alice jumps up and down as she pulls her Blink 182 hoodie over her head and tugs her fingerless black mittens on. Today may only be November 1st, but it's already almost freezing in Forks.

I can't help but jump, too, while I button my coat's toggles. "I know! I know!"

I've been looking forward to tonight since Mom finally caved yesterday. Her and Dad flipped when I told them about my birthday present cell phone. I couldn't not tell them, though. It would have been way worse if I'd waited and they'd just found out. But they certainly didn't like it, and as a result, I've spent the last two weekends at home, in the kitchen and on the couch, doing my hair and sitting through facials with mom, and letting Dad help me with my homework. It hasn't been bad, really. It's just not where I _want_ to be.

"It's been so long!" I sing-song down the hallway, pulling on my backpack.

"Two weeks really isn't that long, Bliss." I hear from behind me.

Garrett perfect-warm smiles when I turn around. He's got a sucker between his back teeth. The stick rests in the corner of his lips and his hands are buried in the front pockets of his jeans. Jasper's next to him with a DumDum lollipop, waving at Alice as she marches toward us like a goofy-grinning, punk rock tin soldier.

"Oh, yes it is," I beg to differ, tugging my hair out from under my coat collar, pulling it all over my right shoulder. Ally high fives Jasper, and they make googly eyes for a split second before she looks at me. I pull her hood up and tug the strings till they're tight, making her bangs stick out funny. "Two weeks is like ten years in best friend time," I inform him as I _tap-tap_ Alice's scrunched up nose.

She giggles, fixing her hood while we move toward the double doors. Jasper walks on Alice's left, and Garrett by my right. "It's true," she says, "two weeks is way too long. I almost died of a broken heart in your absence, B."

"You can't actually die from a broken heart," Jasper corrects her with a smirk.

These boys think they're so smart. They don't even know.

Alice looks aghast as I glance from Jazz to her. She looks from him to me, then back to him. We lace-lock our best friend fingers between us and she brings my hand up to kiss the back of it. "Oh yes," she says with complete certainty and confidence. "Yes, you can."

I smile, and my smile turns into a laugh as we open the doors and the wind gives us all a chilly hello.

"Hey," Alice says, looking at Jasper like she just remembered something. "Where's my sucker?"

Her boyfriend-not-boyfriend pulls another little lollipop from his coat pocket and presents it with a grin that makes her giggle.

I look ahead and spy Esme waiting for us in the line of cars. When Ally and I turn to say goodbye to the boys, they wave, and Garrett passes a fourth sucker from his left hand to my right.

It's mystery flavor, my favorite kind of DumDum.

I love surprises.

.

.

.

I lick my pineapple surprise flavored lips and press them together when I enter the Cullen house behind Esme and Alice.

My excitement dips. It still looks like autumn exploded all beautiful everywhere, just like last time I was here, but everything's different. The air itself is different. I can feel it.

And before I can even see what's going on, I can hear it.

Carlisle is laying into Edward."You can't keep doing shit like this. How many fucking strings do you think I can pull with the superintendent because you can't learn to walk the fuck away? Huh?"

Esme heads toward the verbal thrashing and Alice turns toward the kitchen. I follow, unable to keep from stealing the smallest, quickest glance into the living room.

Edward's slouched back on the couch, long legs open and arms draped across his stomach. He's got his hat on backwards and his head leaned back. His eyes are open, but he's staring up at the ceiling.

I know he can hear his dad, but he's not even close to listening.

"If somebody hits you, you don't take any shit. That's how I raised you. You know that, but you don't get to go off on everybody just because you don't like how they looked at you. And you're fucking done ditching class. I'm sick and fucking tired of this shit—"

I look away and keep my eyes down after that, following the back of Alice's feet onto black and white kitchen tiles.

"What happened now?" Esme asks in Carlisle's pause.

"He fucking broke Emmett McCarty's nose. While he was _supposed_ to be in biology."

"Dammit, Edward—" Esme's silk-soft, smile-sweet voice turns to disgust and disappointment faster than I can blink.

The quickness and clear distinction make my stomach hurt a little. I've seen my parents angry, don't get me wrong. They were furious about the phone I brought home and drove back over to return it right after I showed them. Dad and Carlisle disagreed, and Esme even told my mom to _calm down_ at one point, but my parents don't raise their voices or say things like this. Not to other people, or to one another, and certainly not to me.

And, they're consistent.

The rules aren't blurry at my house like they are here. At home-home, wrong is wrong. Drinking and drugs and fighting, are wrong. Here, it's okay to mix a few drinks or smoke a little weed, as long as it stays _here_, under this roof. It's apparently okay to fight too, so long as somebody else takes the first swing or really deserves it.

I'm not a teenage boy, though. Maybe if I got into half the trouble Edward does, I'd see a different side of my parents.

Then again, I feel like my dad certainly wouldn't threaten military school and not follow through. No, if he said something like that, he'd mean it all the way.

"C'mon," Alice says, grabbing two juice boxes from the fridge. We haven't even taken our coats or book bags off yet. "Let's go upstairs."

I try not to look again. I don't want to look as we pass the living room on the way to the staircase, but I can't help it.

Esme's eyes are narrowed. She's glaring at Edward like she's resisting every urge to wring his neck.

"Didn't you learn a fucking thing the last time this happened? How could you be so stupid? What are we supposed to do when somebody finally decides they want to press charges, Edward?"

He hasn't even moved. He's still laid back, wide open like a target while Carlisle and Esme talk about him to one another, throwing questions at him that he's not meant to answer. He just stares at the ceiling and takes it, and all I can think is, _every second he sits there is another second closer to him leaving._

_Every word out of their mouths is another reason for him to want to, even more, even sooner._

Whether they're right or wrong doesn't matter, because he doesn't care.

There are rocks in my stomach when Alice closes her bedroom door behind us. She flips her TV on and turns the volume up a little louder than necessary. I can't make out everything her parents are saying anymore, but I can still hear them.

They're quiet after a while, and the sound I'm waiting sickly-nervous for, the sound that grows my tummy rocks into boulders, never comes. Alice and I watch all of Empire Records from beginning to end, and I never hear Edward's door slam.

It bothers me more than I knew it could, not knowing what happened, how the trouble and punishment all ended.

_Did they all leave?_

_Was this fight so much worse that they finally carted Edward off to boot camp without so much as letting him pack a bag or say goodbye?_

The thought makes my stomach ache all the way up into my chest.

I hear Ally's tummy growl as she reaches for the remote to stop the movie. Mine's been talking to me too, but I haven't said anything because, even though I am hungry, I'm nervous too.

"You want some dinner?" Alice sits up, pointing her purple heart-tipped finger toward me. "I think there's a pizza and stuff in the freezer."

My stomach grumbles as I touch my matching heart-tip to hers. My now glossy black fingernail shines back at me, making me smile. "Sure," I say, laughing a little when my tummy makes another rumbly sound. I'm apparently hungrier than I realized, and I'm more than slightly curious to see what's going on outside her room. "Let's find dinner."

In the hallway, half of my nerves relax. Edward's door is shut, but there's light and music coming out around it. So, even though he didn't slam it whenever he came up, I know now that he's still here.

Further down, Carlisle and Esme's door is open, but dark and empty, and they're not downstairs either.

In the kitchen, there's a note on the table from with cash on top of it.

_Alice, didn't want to interrupt best friend time. Order food if you want. We'll be home late. I love all three of you, xoxo_

We call for Chinese and hang out in the living room. Alice texts Edward to tell him there's shrimp fried rice for him if he wants it, but he doesn't reply or come down.

I keep my phone in my pocket, where I can feel it just in case it vibrates.

It doesn't.

We watch another movie and Alice lets me paint her toes after I do mine. We bake chocolate chip cookies from the bucket of dough in the fridge and dip them in the carton of vanilla bean ice-cream when they're done. She gets a song lyric text from Jasper around midnight that makes her beam. I check my phone to see if it's died.

It hasn't. And I haven't missed any messages. And it makes me feel sort of crummy.

Even though Edward didn't pay any more attention to us getting home than he did to his parents' lecturing, he knows I'm here. I know he does. I told him I would be when we were on the phone last night, and before we hung up, he said, see you tomorrow, Bliss.

Alice and I change into pajamas and flip channels, and curl up under a blanket on the sofa. I hear the shower run upstairs, but Edward doesn't come down and my phone still doesn't vibrate.

I know he's probably still bent out of shape over everything from this afternoon, but it's me. He's not supposed to treat me like he does everybody else. There's no rule that says so, but maybe there should be.

Alice yawns a long yawn and stretches out, blinking her sleepy eyes. "Am I a lame-ass if I say I'm ready for bed?"

I can't help but smile a little. "No," I shake my head. "It's almost two. That's not lame; it's legit. I'm tired, too."

I'm sort of half telling the truth. I am tired, but not so tired that I'll fall right to sleep. No, I'm going to go lay in her bed and do the exact same thing I'm doing right here on the couch: wonder if it would be alright or a dumb idea to go to Edward's room after she's asleep.

I want to, but he still hasn't even acknowledged me, at all.

"Sweet," Alice, tired-smiles, pushing our blanket back and shutting off the TV.

Upstairs, even after we brush our teeth and slip into our beds under her twinkly yellow lights, I still haven't decided where I'll fall asleep tonight.

"Wanna go to the mall tomorrow?" Alice asks with a yawn. "Mom said I can get my cartilage pierced."

"Of course." I smile in the slightly glowing dark, tucking my phone under my pillow. "G'night, Ally. I love you like strawberry wine coolers."

I hear her giggle, already almost asleep. "Night, Bliss. I love you like birthday gifts when it's not even my birthday."

A few minutes pass. Ten. Fifteen.

Ally's snoozing hard and I can just barely hear music coming from down the hall, but I still can't make up my mind. His bad mood doesn't deter me. I just don't want to bother him if he'd rather be alone.

Another ten minutes goes by and my phone finally buzzes under my pillow. One new message from Dusty.

_What are you waiting for, princess girl?_

I don't even reply.

I let him wait the few seconds it takes for my rumbly tummy rocks to turn into bright belly butterflies; the few super short minutes that sneaking silently out of bed and into the hallway requires. He made me wait all night; a couple minutes on my part only seems fair.

Edward's walking away from his window when I open his door. He's barefoot under black flannel pants, and he's wearing a white v-neck. The left corner of his lips turns up in a half smile when he sees me and every bit of my anxiousness from earlier today is gone. I don't know what happens to it, or where it goes; it's just not there anymore.

That little corner up-twist is all his smile grows, though, and his posture looks tense. I wonder if he's still mad. I can't really tell, but he definitely looks unsettled and a little resentful.

"Hi," I say, not afraid, trying to feel out his mood. I push his door quietly closed and sit on my side of his bed. The blankets are pushed down like he's maybe already been in and out of them a few times.

"Hi," he replies, walking past me. Just before he turns out the light, his hand catches my attention. His right knuckles are cracked red from the fight.

When he hits the switch, it's not totally dark because there's a little bit of outside night light coming in, but we usually fall asleep with the television on. This quiet, almost complete darkness is new.

My stomach is suddenly full of fluttering butterflies, and my heart is beating so hard I think I can taste it. Still sitting up against the headboard, I tuck my toes under the mess of his blankets as he walks around the bed to get in on his side. He looks like a shadow.

"So." I swallow as he reaches for the covers and gathers them up around us both. "What happened today with—"

I stop talking because I can see Edward shake his head as he lies down. "I really don't want to talk about it," he says quietly. He slides one arm under me then and his other around my waist, and turns me gently so that my back is to his front.

I forget the question I was in the middle of asking.

I can feel his heart between my shoulders and his stomach against my back. I can feel both his arms around my middle, and I'm glad it's dark around us. I'm glad that I'm facing away from him, because the way he's holding me makes me smile like some kind of lunatic.

Lifting my right arm out from under his bicep, I place my hand on his that's curved around the top of my rib cage, careful to touch soft around his knuckles. I wonder if he can feel my heart, because it's still beating like crazy, but I don't care. I'm not embarrassed if he can feel it, because it's his fault that it's going so nuts.

With my question forgotten and my worries all gone, I blink my eyes and let them close. My heart continues to scream, but every other part of me relaxes in Edward's arms.

He presses his face closer; I can feel his nose by the back of my ear. He warms my body space and surrounds me in a brand new way.

I can feel his breath on my neck, through my hair, and I want to fall asleep right here, just like this. I want to dream the best dreams, right here, but my butterflies are still turning loops.

I don't know if I can sleep, but then Edward makes the lowest, quietest hum-sound right by my ear. It makes my eyelashes feel like a thousand wonderful pounds, and I close them easily, happily.

"G'night, Isabella Bliss," he whispers, his tired-sounding voice tickling my ear.

I hum in response this time, and sweet sleep finds me before I even know it.

.

.

.

I'm on my second slice of pre-dinner pumpkin pie, wishing I was sipping hot chocolate in front of the Cullens' fireplace.

That's where Alice is. She sent me a picture of her marshmallow fluffed mug a few minutes ago, followed by one of her making a smooshy-cozy-happy face in front of the fire.

I filled my cheeks chipmunk-full with two big bites of pie and funny faced a picture back to her with hearts underneath it. _I miss you! I miss you! I miss you!_

It's Thanksgiving and my grandparents, my dad's mom and dad, are visiting. I haven't seen them since we moved. None of us have. Being anywhere but home today and tomorrow goes without asking. I'll be free again by Saturday night, but every time I think about it, Saturday night feels about a million years away.

So, I try my hardest not to.

I play my part, and it's far from terrible. Gramma and Grampa are full of funny stories about years before I was born, and there's enough delicious food spread across the table and counter tops to keep me snacking for days. On top of that, Mom and Dad are both in such good moods, brushing hand touches here and there, and making happy-in-love eyes at one another across the living room. They dance cheek to cheek in the kitchen, and when he dips her back, I laugh when she laughs. I take Grampa's hand and laugh more when he says _let's show 'em how it's done._

At the table, we take turns sharing thanks. Bliss is one of the many things Mom and Dad both say. Mouth full of turkey and jellied cranberries, I beam behind my closed lips.

I don't share all of mine out loud, but I'm thankful Grampa and Gramma get to be here, and for every day that Dad is safe and sound. I know Forks isn't half as dangerous a place as Phoenix, but I try to never take his well-being for granted.

I'm thankful Mom is taking me shopping tomorrow, promising me more grown-up girl stuff. I'm thankful she taught me how to feel love like she does, with her whole entire heart.

I'm thankful for Carlisle and Esme. My parents are irreplaceable and I love them more, but I love my second parents, too. I'm thankful Dad was right about me making friends here. I'm thankful for Lauren and Leah, and Garrett, and even Petey and Ben. And I feel like I could burst when I think about how much Alice means to me. I'm more than thankful for her.

She's my partner, my comrade, and my accomplice. Ally is my ally. And my hero, in so many ways.

I smile to myself; I'm more than thankful for Edward, too.

His trust in me goes beyond the best kind of best friend trust. He knows he can trust me, that I'll always keep quiet. He's insistent on me acting my age and staying out of trouble, but in truth, he treats me like more of an adult than anyone else because we share the very biggest secret, and his trust in me to secure our secret is something I'm more thankful for than I can really understand.

I feel like I found a friend for life in him, just like Alice. I don't even know how we survived before we met. My life feels as if it were so blank before, and blankness is hard to remember.

Thinking about them makes me wish it was it was two days from now already.

After dinner, while I'm helping Mom and Gramma clean up, she asks what I'd like for Christmas.

"New snow boots," I smile and say instead of _more freedom_, like I feel. "Gray ones, the kind that are soft like thick wooly socks inside and around the top, but have extra good grip in the bottom."

When I pop the wishbone a little bit later with Grampa, I secretly ask for Edward to stay in Saturday night. I know I'm going over to see Ally, but I want to see him, too. I miss him.

Stuffed and sleepyful, we all say goodnight before it's very late. Mom and Dad give their bed to Grampa and Gramma. Left without a room, my parents build a nest of pillows and blankets on the fold out couch. They put a movie on, and it's ridiculously romantic to see them being all cute and cuddled up in love.

In my room, door closed and music turned on quietly, I change into my pajamas. I pull on baby pink and ivory white striped pants, and the matching tank top, and dig Edward's hoodie out of the corner of my closet.

It's losing its woodsy-smoky-vanilla smell, but with the hood up and purposefully deep breaths, I still get hints of Edward.

I think about texting him, but realize I don't really know what to say. So, setting phone on my night stand in case I change my mind, I turn out the light and climb under my blankets. I turn my little bedside lamp on and open _The Giver _up to the chapter ahead of the one we're on for Mr. Birdy's class.

A few pages in, my eyelids are getting heavy. I've got Edward's sleeves pulled down around my fingers, and my fabric covered fingers pressed to my chin and lips. The sleeves are so soft on my skin. The smell and feel, and thought of it, of Edward, all around me lulls and comforts, and sends my sleepy curiosity to a place it's never quite gone before.

When the idea of taking my pajama top off first shapes itself clearly enough in my mind for me to consider it, I hesitate. I feel sort of silly.

I'm alone in my room, though. It can be my own secret that no one ever has to know, and with that, my curiosity wins. I sit right up and tug both shirts over my head.

Momentarily topless, I separate my cami from his hoodie and toss it toward my closet. Biting the bottom of my smile, I slip my arms back into his sleeves and pull the sweatshirt back over my head.

I am immediately elated with my decision.

The inside of his hoodie on my bare skin is better than anything I could have imagined, and I mentally kick myself for not thinking of this sooner. I've been missing out for months without even knowing it.

English homework forgotten, I pull the hood up once more and lie back down, stretching my arms out across my bed. The warm, worn softness slides with my movement and brushes along my stomach and other naked parts of me, too.

I feel my cheeks blush as I slide my arms back down and the black fabric moves with it over my small curves. Taking hold of the bottom edge in both hands, I give the smallest pull, just so I can feel _that_ again.

I press my lips together to keep from giggling. The worn soft cotton brushes against my bare chest. It feels tingly and tight, like when I'm cold, but this is different. It's good. It's better, and my hands repeat the little pull movement, all on their own.

Turning my hot-pink-feeling cheek against the inside of the hood, I close my eyes and smile even higher. I smell Edward's smell and love it. I wrap my arms around myself, holding his warmth around me like a hug, and I giggle some more because I can't stop thinking his name over and over.

Smiling from ear to ear, I blink a few times, but let my eyes stay mostly closed. I stretch and shift, and feel the fabric move. I focus on the tight tickle-tingle feeling until the shivers feel so good they almost hurt.

Even then, they feel so worthy.

The cotton caress thrills sort of amaze me, making me never want to wear a bra again.

Giggling, I turn onto my side and reach for my phone and text:

_I know you know I love it, but it's Thanksgiving and I'm thankful for your hoodie. That's all._

Phone under my pillow and lamp out, I snuggle down into vanilla black cotton under my plumbago blue blankets. I close my eyes and breathe, and my phone vibrates. The words glowing in the dark light my whole world up.

_I'm thankful for you, Bliss. I miss you. You should be here next to me. _

.

.

.

I get my new boots from Gramma and Grampa two weeks later. They make me feel like I'll never fall. Like as long as I'm wearing them, I can walk on or through anything. They make me feel invincible.

I spent the following night on the phone with Edward until almost one in the morning, attempting to defend this theory:

"They're just boots, baby." He laughed, which made me laugh, too. He's a boy. I didn't, and don't expect him to fully comprehend the greatness that is snow boots, but it was fun to try.

"No, they're not." I smiled, snuggling under my blankets and wishing they were his. "They're like super-armor. They make me invulnerable," I silly-insisted, searching for bigger, better, stronger words. "Untouchable. Unconquerable."

I close my eyes in Alice's bed, fighting my nervous tummy ache.

She and I exchanged gifts today, and Edward and I are supposed to any minute now. I can't be anywhere but home on Christmas day and it's only three days away. I've had my super boots for almost two weeks now, and they're still beyond awesome for two key reasons:

One, because Forks is freaking treacherous in the thick of wintertime and they grip the ice like none other.

And two, because when Ally and I got home from our Port Angeles trip today, when we got upstairs ... when I was still two steps from the top—_God, right exactly when I looked up..._

Jacket zipped, hood half off, barely resting on her black with hot-pink streaked ponytail, Victoria opened Edward's door. She was still grinning about whatever was going on behind it, and I felt the floor bottom out from under me.

The sudden dip in what had been a fantastic girl-day and the even more abrupt shift in my ultra-relaxed comfort level, knocked me way off my guard. I gripped the railing to climb the last two steps, but it was my boots that steadied my ankles and kept me from buckling.

I open my eyes and stare at the tiny yellow light shapes reflected on the ceiling.

"Hey little sisters." Victoria smiled, shrugging her shoulders up as she walked right past us. She smelled like pot and looked like the devil in holey kneed jeans and a purple zip hoodie. Her lips were glitter-glossed dark pink, and she popped a loud bubble with her gum.

She's so pretty it makes me hurt. She's so pretty it turns my stomach.

"Go die," Ally snapped in response, very much still within earshot before Victoria closed the bathroom door.

I breathe out, long and slowly, trying, wanting so much to let it all go.

We'd only stopped by here to pick up a few CDs from her room. Ally and I were back in Esme's car just a few minutes later. I got a text from Edward when we were almost to the mall.

_Where'd you go, princess pie in the sky?_

I told Alice it was from my mom. I didn't reply.

Esme went her way with Lauren's mom. Alice and I met up with Jazz and everyone to share pizzas before the movie. While Alice ordered, I hurried in the bathroom to clear my head and better button up my facade.

I'd heard Petey behind Edward's door, too, laughing and telling Mixie to shut the fuck up because she didn't know what she was talking about. I'd heard Ben cracking up, also. I _knew_ Edward wasn't in there alone with her, but the _sight _of her there, behind his door...

I blow air out and turn onto my side.

_Whatever._

_It's whatever. _

It doesn't matter. Nothing was going on. Everyone was in there, not just him and her. It's fine.

I close my eyes again and try not to think, but it doesn't work.

It _does _matter.

I don't know why. I just know that it does. He's not supposed to be with her like that.

I open my eyes once more and flip onto my back.

It's only a little after eleven. Ally and I said goodnight less than twenty minutes ago. She sounds like she's out, but it's still too soon to be certain, and even if I was, I'm so upset with everything I've been holding in all evening that I probably still wouldn't get up and go yet.

I sigh, stretching and reaching through the covers.

_Yes._

_I would._

Edward's fifteen years old and his own person, with his own life. How he spends his time, and who he chooses to spend it with is his business, just as mine is my own. It shouldn't concern me. It shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter.

He doesn't care about her. He doesn't respect her.

She doesn't get to fall asleep tangled up in his blankets and his arms, and wake up with—

_Oh._

Oh...

_No. No. No._

My next thought makes me feel so sick suddenly, dizzy, and hot and cold all over. I feel like blowing pizza chunks everywhere and turning everything in the room upside down in a fit. My throat and nose burn inside, and I feel like crying my eyes out into my own own river.

I hope so hard that Alice is deep in her dreams, because I can't stay here any longer. Nudging the blankets down and sliding out of bed as silently as I can, I push away the thought that sickens me the most. I refuse to think it. I can't. Not without losing control.

They haven't. They wouldn't.

_He wouldn't._

I brush my hair off my shoulders and fill my chest up with a deep breath. Feeling just about everything the opposite of cheerful, I walk right past my bag where Edward's Christmas gift is packed. I reach for my snow boots instead and tug them both on. They bunch up my powder blue pajama pants, but I don't even care.

_It doesn't matter_, my brain keeps telling me. _He doesn't care about her, not like he cares about you. He thinks you're prettier. He says so all the time..._

But it does matter.

They can't do this, not here. This matters. This is mine...

I realize when I get to his door that his light is still on. He's still awake, and I didn't text him to say I was coming down, or to ask if I could. Not that I ever do, but I still haven't even replied to his text from this afternoon.

I shake it off. _That _doesn't matter. This room is where our secret lives. It's not just his anymore. I'm always welcome and always wanted here. I know it. Just like he knows he can trust me. Always.

_But then why__—_

Taking another breath to push my doubts and constantly growing Edward concerns further down, I wrap my clammy hand around his door handle and turn.


	8. Out Loud

**We do not own ****Twilight****. **

**If you're reading this, thank you.**

**Mack all dressed in black, black, black, I love you like learning to count and renumber :)**

**BabyBlue is our beta/prereader girl. I love you like morning light.**

**Dispatch - Out Loud: **_If we were walking down a dead end street, would you be the one to let our eyes meet? Or would you just keep on walking down to the turn around? Because you know I'd be proud, if you called my name out loud. Do you suppose that I would come running? Do you supposed I'd come at all? I suppose I would..._

**Chapter Seven – Bliss**

Still fully dressed, shoes and all, Edward is bright eyed and smoking a clip near his open window when I open his door. He looks over when I step inside, and I can feel his good mood from where I stand.

I lean back against his closed door and meet his eyes across the short distance. He smiles a smile so high and eager it makes my sick stomach twist, because all the muscles in my body want me to smile back and I don't want to.

In my peripheral vision, I can see that his bed's still made. The relief I feel is minimal, though; next to nothing.

Edward lifts his left brow just a little and looks down. When he laughs, I know it's at my boots. I press my lips together and fight the urge to cross my arms.

Still smiling all lighthearted, he looks up, and I have to look away. "We going somewhere, strawberry blonde?"

I can't even answer. I feel so ridiculous all of a sudden. I feel our age difference. I rushed to get here, but now that I am, I feel like I'm Edward's little sister's friend, all awkward in his room in my snow boots and pajamas. I _feel_ out of place, and I want to turn around and leave, and I hate it.

But I can't _not_ lean off the door.

His bed is between us, and I can't even look at it without wanting to cry, but I can't _not _walk around it.

It's more freezing cold with every step closer to his window, but that's where Edward is, so that's where I go. I can't not.

I press my hands flat on the frozen-feeling window ledge when I'm close enough and peek outside. I don't look over at Edward. I'm not ready to. I stare at the black and white night, and breathe in through my nose to fill my lungs up with pure, clean snow and cold air.

_It does matter. It does. It does. It's not fair..._

Turning around with my chest full of winter cold, I lean my shoulders against the frame, facing my back to the outside. I cross my freezing arms across my chest and dig inside to find my smile.

_I can do this. I know how to do this. I do this all the time._

"How was your night?" I try to ask, but my voice sounds hollow. It feels fake in my throat, and I know right away, for the first time, and for sure, that I can't fake things with him like I do with everyone else. I want to right now, but I can't.

"Wait—" Edward blows a hit and stands up straight. He towers. If I could bring myself to look at him, I'd have to look up.

He throws the roach outside and points at my boots. "Did you fucking put those on because you were coming down here? To see me?"

My heart sinks like a frozen stone into my sick stomach. It hurts, and I'm embarrassed, and I want to tell him to stop being a stupid boy so I can stop feeling like a crazy girl.

Edward snorts a frustrated breath out through his nose and walks over to his dresser. His voice relaxes as he pulls the top drawer open, his back to me while he searches for something. There's seriousness in his words, but he doesn't sound mad. "Take them off. You don't need your boots in here, Bliss."

I clench my hands under my arms, against pajama top. I want him to be right. I want to feel right, but I don't. I hate that Victoria was in here, and _I don't want to take my fucking boots off._

"My feet are cold," I half fib. They're not, but I'm sure they would be if I was barefoot.

Edward's still searching when he says, "Bullshit." His good mood is determined. I can hear it. I can see just the very start of it in the right corner of his lips.

When he turns to face me again, he's holding a red wrapped gift-box. His half-smile is a full sincere grin now. "C'mon, take your fucking boots off and sit down. It's our Christmas, right?"

He steps toward the foot of his bed and nervous-angry-repulsion guts me the closer he gets to it. I cross my arms tighter. I look at the floor, his Chucks ... everywhere but at his bed or him. "I don't want to sit down."

Edward laughs in disbelief as his feet stop and he stands still. "What the fuck, baby?"

I roll my eyes at myself. I'm his little sister's awkward friend. I'm being dumb and I know it. My whole body is freezing because I'm still in front of the window, but I don't want to move. I don't want to sit on his bed if she has. I don't want to be anywhere near it if they've—

_God, I can't even think the word._

I am too young. I know it and hate it so much.

I can't help but look up at Edward. He's still holding the shiny red-wrapped gift and his eyebrows are drawn together above his nose. His light sky blues are full of concern, and he's looking at me like he cares so much.

I can't fake okay. I keep everything all together. "Why are you with Victoria if you don't like her?"

His shoulders fall a little as he looks up at the ceiling. He takes a breath in and his fingers shift their grip on the small red gift. "I'm not with her," he says calmly, dismissively. "C'mere, come sit with me. Don't be mad. I thought we were doing presents?"

He steps back with his left foot, closer to his bed, and lets go of the gift to reach for me with his right hand.

"No." I can't do it. I can't. I pull my hand away before he reaches it. "I don't want to sit down there with you."

Edward looks at me like I shot fire at him. He looks burned, the way he takes his hand back and buries it in his pocket.

"Bliss, what? What's the matter? Down where?"

"On your bed," I blurt out.

The quiet seconds that follow make me think of the ocean, how it can just swallow you up, no questions asked. Between the cold on my back and bare arms, and my own awful nerves, I'm shivering-freezing.

Edward's brows dig closer together. He doesn't understand. He looks over his shoulder at his bed, then back at me. He opens his mouth to say something, but then he gets it. I see him get it.

My ice cold cheeks burn.

"That's what you're ... you think—" He starts and stops, shaking his head, blinking his eyes closed for a second, like he can't believe it. He pushes his hands through his hair and drags them both down his face, resting his fingertips on his chin as he starts again, so carefully composed.

"Not even one time," he says simply, like a statement of granted fact, like it's something that's blatantly obvious to the whole entire world. "Not ever."

I'm relieved ... I guess.

I should be. That was what I wanted, but not really. It's not enough. I need more.

I breathe out, needy-hearted. When I look up, Edward's eyes are waiting on mine.

"Bliss, I don't..." he starts and stops again, and I know he's trying to be patient. He's all _fucks_ and _half-phrases_, and _tense posture._ "I can't fucking—I don't even let her sit on my bed. You're the only—"

He stops again, frustrated. He might never admit to it, but I can hear the hurt in his voice, and it makes me feel terrible. I look down at his shoes again, and I feel it when he looks at me.

"I've never let anybody else in my bed, okay?"

It's the truth, and I know it. My heart beats harder. I nod and shiver and need.

"Will you please give me your hand now?" He really asks, and I look up. It's only now that I realize he's waiting. That he's been waiting since I said no. That he's waiting for my permission.

Too frozen where I stand to do much else, I nod again.

Edward clears the three steps between us, and I take one away from the window. When he reaches for me this time, I don't pull away. I reach, too.

"Jesus Christ, baby." When he touches his so warm hand to my ice cold one, he pulls me all the way to himself immediately and completely. He picks me up with one arm around my middle and closes his window with his free hand. "You're fucking freezing. Are you okay?" His voice melts down my neck and both his arms wrap and squeeze. He rubs my back, and I breathe out. I breathe in and nod my head, holding onto him.

He's so warm and so right all around me. Even the parts of me he makes so nervous, he comforts and makes better.

"Don't ever pull away from me like that again, B," Edward says, his voice still by my ear. It spreads warm down across my chest and into my bare skin. It melts through it.

I shake my head and don't let go. "I won't," I promise without saying _I promise_. "Rule forty. I won't. I won't. I won't."

I hear his smile under his breath. The sound of it lifts me even as he sets me on my feet and unzips his hoodie. I'm confused for half a second before he wraps me in heavy-warm heather gray and zips it all the way up to my chin. He pulls the hood up and tugs my red-blonde ends out.

He looks right at me, and I can't help my smile.

He crooked grins his full smile, and his eyes are so open, so genuine that I know nobody else gets this part of him. Not Alice or his parents. Definitely not Victoria. Not even Ben or Petey. This right here, is only for me.

The thought causes a million maniac butterflies that all know his name to fly like crazy.

"This is just ours," Edward says, kind and clear-eyed in a moment of no nonsense.

My grin grows higher and tickles my eyes. I'm not one hundred percent sure_ exactly_ what _this_ is, but I know that I want it. I agree and nod, and my butterflies don't quit. "Rule forty one?" I ask, wanting to keep it—_this_—for life, forever.

He pulls another loose curl out and reaches to my sides pick me up by my hips so he can set me down on the edge of his bed. "More than that."

I crinkle my brows and watch his eyes since he doesn't look away when he leans closer and reaches lower. He picks up my left leg by my gray covered ankle, and I try to focus on thinking of something more than a rule, something stronger. "Like a law?" I ask.

Edward laughs as he pulls my left boot off and tosses it aside. "More than that," he tells me again, reaching for my right boot and removing it, too. My butterflies flutter all the way up behind my smile when he tucks my bare feet under his leg for warmth. "Just the truth."

.

.

.

I maybe live for Fridays.

For a few years now, they've been my favorite. They're different from every other day of the week from the very beginning—from the moment I wake. I'm almost always in a good mood in the mornings, sleepy and quiet, but good. Fridays, though, I'm bouncing ecstatic inside.

Today is January 11th. That's not really important. However, it's also Friday, and that_ is_ important.

I get go see Ally today. We're going to get another hole poked in her left ear after school. We get to stay up late, maxing and relaxing in front of the fire place.

My next thought follows just as naturally as the ones that preceded it: _I get to see Edward today._

The smile I woke with curls a little higher.

I can smell coffee and cinnamon pancakes when I open the bathroom door. Freshly showered and wrapped snug in a towel, I work another one through my hair and breathe in the sweet breakfast smells on my way back to my room.

I'm up almost an hour earlier than usual so I have time to curl my hair, and I'm a firm believer that the right music is essential to any morning being a good one. Especially on an up earlier than normal one. Door closed, I turn the _Beatss with two S's_ mix that Alice made specifically for the new year on and up. Not too loud, just enough to feel the drums and the bells as I move to them.

_I feel it._

_Can you feel it?_

_There's something in the air._

I pull light pink unders up my legs and clasp-strap the matching bra, glancing over at my boots.

_I feel it._

_Can you feel it?_

_There's something in the air._

I haven't worn them back to Edward's room, but they're on my feet every day. Wintertime has snow-slicked the whole world for miles in every direction, making walking extremely hazardous. Super boots or not, they're seriously warm, and they really do protect my bones and butt from the ice that's everywhere.

_I feel it._

I still feel like I can walk through anything in my boots, and the one place I can't, I don't need to. Edward will carry me or let me ride.

_Can you feel it?_

My boots are my grace-givers. Between them and all the dreamy-gorgeous unders-sets Mom bought me after Thanksgiving, it's hard not to revel in getting ready every morning. She's very, very slowly coming around to the idea of my growing up. A little bit. _Maybe._

_There's something in the air._

Regardless, soft-pretty lace outlined cheeks and cups do for my confidence what my gray snow boots do for my sense of balance. Secure in one and secretly sexy in the other, I feel less like an awkward kid and more like a teenage darling every day.

_I feel it._

_Can you feel it?_

Tight, dark denim tugged up over my pale pink cotton stitched courage, I slip a white cami on first, then a light gray one over it. I button an even darker gray cardigan over both of those and add ankle socks and super boots.

I shuffle-shuffle drumbeat-step to my dressing table where I dry, comb, and curl my hair into ginormously loose ringlets. I brush my lids with silvery moon white and just barely blush-pink my cheeks. Hand claps and bass beats give way to deeper beats and quicker tempos. I pull my sleeves down over my palms, grab my packed-last-night bag, and all but skip downstairs with track one still echoing in my mind.

_There's something in the air..._

After breakfast, I tell Dad I love him and to be safe. Bundled up and toasty in the car, I laugh with Mom at the _weird news_ segment on public radio. At school, I kiss her cheek before I get out, and she tells me to call if I need _anything._ She emphasizes, _anytime_.

"You know that, Bliss." She smiles a serious kind of love.

"I know, Mom." I smile back and pull my hood up, careful around my curls.

With more than enough time to unbundle and collect my books, I lean by my open locker, and talk with Leah and Lauren. Alice runs and skids down the eighth grade hall ten minutes later, almost too late to trade a handful of her Lemonheads for Eskimo kisses and two of my PixyStix.

"Where was it this time?" I ask, each of us walking backward down opposite ends of the hall.

"In the fucking refrigerator! In the vegetable crisper!" Alice laughs and shakes her head, pouring blue powdered sugar out onto her tongue all at the same time.

My jaw drops. "By the vegetables?"

Ally snorts. "Well, he took the vegetables all out, Bliss!"

"You need to start keeping your shoes under lock and key." I have to turn to go up the stairs.

"I know! Such a fucker." Alice flashes an easy-bright grin. Her language may be foul and in truth, she probably was pretty ticked about twenty minutes ago, but there's no sign of it here and now. She's every bit as in love with Friday mornings as I am.

She waves and I wave back before she turns the corner behind her.

A few minutes into economics, I crunch the Lemonheads she gave me between texts from her shoe thief brother.

_Morning, sunny-side girl._

_Morning, trouble-maker boy._

I chomp the little lemon candy and slip my phone back onto my lap, under the top of my desk. I know I'm not supposed to have it out during class, but this is when Edward almost always texts me. I can't really help it. I don't really want to, anyway.

_You coming over tonight?_

_No, I thought I'd stay home and work on some extra credit reading, something like that._

I slide the screen dark and look up to the power point presentation going on in the front of the classroom. I watch, but I picture Edward sitting in the back of one of his classes. Or leaning in the hallway. Or in the parking lot, anywhere he could be really, pausing whatever he's doing to text _me_.

_Good, you should, slacker-baby. That's what all the good kids are doing on Friday nights._

I tart-smile around a fresh little Lemonhead. I picture Edward's taunting smirk.

_Like I'd be anywhere else on a Friday night._

Mrs. Maugham goes on about guns and butter. I give her my attention for a few minutes and jot some notes down. I think about putting my phone away, but decide to change the subject instead.

_Is my goodie ready yet?_

Later Christmas night, after I was barefoot and warmed up, I snuck back down to Alice's room. I returned to his with the huge, no-bake cookie I'd made, plastic wrapped and tied with a single black ribbon string in my right hand. Under my left arm, I carried his baseball hoodie.

"Isn't it kind of rude to return a gift to its giver?" Edward asked, brown eyebrow lifted over curious blue.

"It is," I said. "So, obviously, that's not what's happening." I handed over the hoodie that smelled more like me than him now and brushed loose strands of strawberry yellow out of my face. I'd tried thinking of a hundred different ways to ask, but really, there just weren't that many. "I need you to make it smell good again."

The left corner of his mouth curved up a little. He checked his smile like he was way too cool for it. "How do you mean?"

I sat back down next to him on his bed and tucked my toes under the black blankets under his leg. Wanting to play it just as cool, I tried to wield just half as much control over my own silly happy lightness. "Y'know," I shrugged, still holding the chunk of chocolate-peanut-butter goodness in my hands, twirling my fingers through the black bow strings around it. "Like a dusty delinquent."

Edward let his grin fill out when I glanced up. He took the cookie from me and untied the ribbon without looking away. "You think I smell good, Bliss?"

I tried to press my lips together, but my smile was out of control. I pulled the shades he'd just given me a few minutes earlier down over my eyes and showed him my middle finger as I leaned back. "Shut up, Edward."

I'd felt a little badly when I'd first opened the shiny red wrapped box and looked down at my own pair of brand new Ray Bans. I'd been clueless for weeks about what to get him, and even if I hadn't been, it wasn't like my allowance would have covered something equivalent to a new pair of hundred dollar sunnies.

My unease had only lasted for a few seconds, though. They were exactly like his pair that Victoria had broken a while back, and he was choosing to give these new ones to me, not her. I'd felt undeniably chill the second I put them on, just like Edward said he knew I would. And my gift lived up to my hopes. No-bake cookies were his favorite. When I asked for them, he gave me bites, but for the most part he are the whole thing, and I curled up behind my sunglasses, completely cushy-comfortable under the covers in our secret.

In a time and place that was and is _just ours._

That was almost three weeks ago. I love that he's being thorough, but I'm ready to have my hoodie back now. Sleeping without it stinks.

_Almost. Maybe I'll give it back tonight. Maybe._

I smile and shimmy shake to the beat of this morning's music still echoing inside me.

Economics doesn't last much longer, and by second hour my phone is pocketed and fairly forgotten. Ally's in the rest of my classes from here on out and we try to pay attention. We truly do try, but some days are harder to sit still through than others. And Friday is always one of those days.

Lunch break helps let some wild feelings whirl free. Algebra sucks after that, but all we have left afterward is an hour of study hall. I don't know how it worked out so lucky for all of us, but Ally and I share this last class of every day of the week with Jasper and Garrett. My cards were dealt ridiculously great this semester. I've probably got the best schedule I could ever hope to end junior high with.

The thought of next year, which is technically this year now, of high school being just seven and a half months away, baits my fancy. Mr. Whitley doesn't care if we "work on homework" in small groups during study hall, though, which means I resist the impulse to daydream in order to keep up with our four-way conversation about which movie to see tonight.

It's actually more of a two-way conversation. Alice and Jasper back and forth while Garrett and I just smile and shake our heads. Our quiet input counts, though. By the time the bell rings and we head out together, we've all decided on something funny. We make plans to meet up again in a few hours, with Leah and Lauren.

But before the movie, and before we go for a sushi dinner, Alice and I have plans of our own. She's going to get another stud in her left ear and I'm going to hold her hand, and giggle at the small squeak sound and silly face I know she'll make.

"You know, there _is_ a body shop right down the street from the mall." Ally nudges her mom's elbow with hers, a sneaky-twinkle of high hope in her eyes once we're on our way to Port Angeles.  
>"They'll pierce my lip for free if I just buy the jewelry..." she sing-songs the facts casually, like she has even the slightest hint of a chance.<p>

"Uh-huh, sure." Esme nods, flashing her daughter a _yeah right_ smile. I know she means it when she means business. I don't ever want her upset with me, but in truth, even Esme's sarcasm is pretty. No matter her emotion, she always looks so flawless. "And maybe your dad won't snatch it right out of your gorgeous face when you get home with it."

Ally rolls her beautiful bright blues and makes a funny face over her shoulder at me. I ruffle her wind-blown blonde from where I'm sitting up in the middle of the back seat, and she turns up the music.

I know Carlisle wouldn't actually _snatch_ the silver from her lip if she got it pierced, but he certainly wouldn't stand for it. Their not-until-you're-sixteen answer hasn't budged half an inch, but that hasn't stopped her from asking. And it definitely hasn't weakened her want for the little piercing even a little bit. So, she's decided to get her left ear done all the way up in the meantime. If they still haven't caved by however long that takes, she's going to get her right one pierced all the way up too. She's doing it one ear at a time because it's her self proclaimed _fuck you to symmetrical beauty._

I love it. I love that the only standards she works to live up to are her own.

She squeezes my hand and snicker-squeaks when the lady at Claire's pops a third earring into her left ear. Ally's pink with pain little lobe is home to a neon green star, a black heart and now, a super tiny little light catcher.

Her newest earring is an opal, my birthstone. "It's way cooler than mine," she says, turning her nose up at the little bitty diamonds next to April on the jewelry chart.

I giggle. I kind of wish my mom was here, so that she could sign for me to get the pair's match in my left ear, or to get Ally's birthstone as my second set, but she hasn't been too keen on spending time with Esme recently. They're not unfriendly by any means, but things haven't really been the same since my birthday.

The wish passes, and I'm okay with it. I'll gladly settle for not having a hole punched through my ear lobe because I still get _this._ Esme's with us for a little bit, but I'm an entire city away from home, feeling free and flying easy-high with my best friend, zero cares in the whole world. I still feel more guarded by my parents than most kids my age, but I keep a good perspective. I get and have a lot Mom and Dad have no idea about, and I'm continually grateful for every moment of it.

At the mall, Esme goes left when we leave Claire's. Alice and I go right.

We shop in and out of music stores and book stores, and try on outfits that make each other laugh. Ally's the only one that will ever see me in Dickies and Doc Martens, complete with a fishnet top over nothing but my pastel pink bra, and a too huge beanie almost over my eyes. Just like I'm the only one that will ever catch her drop dead gorgeous in a poofy periwinkle prom dress cut for a girl four years her senior.

My jaw drops when she comes out of her dressing room to stand in front of the mirror, and my eyeballs feel suddenly too big for my head. "Ally, your boobs look amazing!"

"They're so out of control!" She shakes her head, foofy-fluffing all the crinoline around her legs while I tighten the strings of her top a little. Her boobs pop up higher and her eyes bug out now, too. "Where did they even fucking come from? Holy shit..."

I click a picture on my phone while she inspects her offensively girlish, sparkling soft-blue wrapped reflection. She took one of me in the last store, looking like a filthy flirty hoodlum. So, taking hers now is only turnabout and even if it wasn't, this is too great a moment to not be documented.

"You're fucking cuckoo!" She laughs, pretending to glare her hardest. "You show that to anyone and you're a dead princess, B."

I laugh with her and foof out my own poofy prom dress next to her in the mirror.

By the time we meet up with everyone at Nishino's, I'm starving. Dinner is grand. The movie afterward is even better. And singing out all the words to Timberwolves at New Jersey with Alice on the way home, is the perfect start of a perfect ending, to a pretty perfect Friday.

We get in a few minutes after ten. Edward's still out with his friends, doing whatever they do. Carlisle's out of town for the weekend, and Esme heads to their bedroom for the night. This leaves Alice and I with the whole house pretty much to ourselves. She turns on the television and we unwind in front of the fireplace.

An hour or so goes by. Edward still isn't home, but I'm tired and Ally is, too. We head upstairs and trade our snow boots and Chucks for bare feet and pajamas. I wanted to be awake when Edward got home, but it's late and the day's hustle-bustle has worn me sleepy. Tucking my phone under my pillow, I try to stay up through my yawns, but my eyelids refuse to see things my way.

My screen glows 1:47 a.m. when the buzzing under my cheek pulls me from my sleep some time later.

_Wake up, baby beautiful, beautiful girl. Come down here._

My smile stretches awake seconds before every other part of myself.

_I'm on my way_, I text back, blinking dreamy sleep from my eyes.

.

.

.

Edward's next to me in his bed. He's breaking up little buds on his geometry textbook. He laughs every now and then at Dan Aykroyd and Bill Murray on the TV, but doesn't take his eyes off his work.

I watch his hands out of the corner of my eye, relaxed, but far from sleepy and ever fascinated by things I know I'm supposed to stay away from.

We're both leaned back, shoulders against his propped up pillows, against his headboard. He swears he's _straight, just a little faded, baby_ but this assurance came between half-closed eyes and the crookedest, most deviously high smile I've ever seen. It was his rebuttal when I called him out on being drunk, drunk, drunk.

It's not bad, though. Far from it. He's just goofy and a little stumbley, and it's kind of, sort of hilarious.

He's also not really tired at all, and now that he's home, neither am I.

Edward glances up at the movie and sprinkles green grass into the open fold of thin, white paper. I try not to watch, but he makes it hard not to. He touches just the tip of his tongue to the corner and lightly licks from one end of the joint to the other.

He may be my best friend's brother. He may be two years ahead of me at all times. He may even be a drunk-face hooligan right now, but watching him seal the joint with his careful fingertips and another little lick from the tip of his tongue, does unspeakable things to my butterflies.

My heart beats and I feel a tickle-tingle all over. If I had his hoodie on, I'd snuggle deeper into it, but I don't. Edward has it on, and there are no words for how good it's going to smell when I get it back.

I tuck the thought away and try not to smile so high. I rest my hands on my stomach and fidget with my top's bottom button. I think about today instead. I think about Lemonheads. poofy prom dresses, and the ride home, when Alice was already winking and nudging her mom about her lip again. _She's insane._

I think about getting my ears pierced again. I could get Ally's birthstone and wear two tiny diamonds in each ear. I feel like my mom would say yes. I could never do something like my lip, though. That's crazy. Ally is beautiful crazy, but if I did it, it would just be plain crazy.

_But something girlier maybe..._

Edward doctors the end of the joint and I fingertip circle my belly button through my shirt.

_Mom would back-flip if I even asked. No way she'd ever let me._

But, that doesn't make the thought go away. I go back to fidgeting with the little button on the bottom of my shirt, imagining something small and sparkly in my own little button.

"You okay over there, B?" Edward asks without really looking over.

"Mhmm." I nod, feeling caught and a little silly. I move my fingers up one to the next little bit of pearl. "Buttons are precious," I say.

The left side of his mouth, the side I can see, curves a touch. "You're precious."

I smile, silently swooning a little at his sweet lightheartedness, and go back to my buttons.

Once it's finished, Edward sets the joint down next to where there's still grass on his textbook. He pulls another paper and folds it to fill it. "C'mon," he says, "tell me what you're thinking about."

I laugh. The only things on my mind are diamonds and sapphires, and the beautiful way he rolls a joint.

"What if I get my belly button pierced?" I muse casually, lifting just the very bottom of my shirt up to look at said button.

I hear him smirk. I look over and he's not looking, but he's shaking his head. "Don't do that."

"What?" I ask, tickle-tingling as his fingertips press and roll white and green. I push unspeakable thoughts away. "Just a dainty little thing, nothing crazy. Just like, a tiny little diamond." I look down at my stomach and picture it, and it really would be so cute.

"Don't you fucking dare, baby," he says. His smirk returns after he seals the joint. His voice is drawn and easygoing, but it doesn't change what he's saying.

"Why not?" I'm confused. I'm pretty sure Victoria has hers pierced. I'm pretty sure the thought of him being anywhere near it makes me want to be sick. I don't understand why he's against the idea. Or why he even cares.

Edward's reply is unedited. Naturally, he doesn't miss a beat. "Because I love your belly button the way it is." He twists the end of the joint, caught up in careful finger-tipping. I don't think he realizes what he said. "Don't put that shit in your belly, Bliss."

My heart beats pure, unbending sunshine light. I glow bright. I tremble invincible joy, and I can't believe he just said that. I sit up a little straighter and dig my toes under his leg for warmth. I look right at him, waiting for him to catch up.

_I feel it._

_Can you feel it?_

His smirk spreads into a smile when he looks at me. He sets the joint down and rubs my right ankle. His hand is warm. _He's always so warm._ "What?" he asks; his faded dark blue eyes are curious.

I smile higher still. No way am I going to let this slide. "You love my belly button?"

Edward's drunk-pink cheeks pink a little darker. His smile grows, glancing at my pulled up shirt, then playfully back to my eyes. "Rule number … whatever: that's my belly button."

"You can't have my belly button!" I giggle squeak.

Edward laughs with his finger to his lips, reminding me to keep quiet. "Shhh, I can. It's a rule. You can't say no."

I shake my head and sit up on my knees, facing him. Eye to eye, smile to smile, my pajama covered kneecaps touch the denim of his left leg. I don't feel like his little sister's friend anymore. I feel closer to his equal than I ever have.

"You said you _loved_ my belly button," I remind him matter-of-factly. I'm lit so bright inside. I feel more confident and courageous than I ever have in boots or lace. "You said 'love', Edward. Loooooooove," I tease in an intentionally quiet whisper. "Does that mean you loooooove me?"

He chuckles and moves his geometry book to his nightstand. He sits up onto his knees, too, taller than me now. I get to look up.

Edward raises his left eyebrow, like he wants to make sure he has all of my attention. _Like it could be anywhere else right now._ He smiles my favorite smile and watches my eyes. "Of course I love you, Bliss."

I feel my lip and my eyelids both open a little bit wider.

His voice is soft and kind, but he's really asking: "Don't you love me?"

I nod my head, pressing my teeth into my smile. I can't even begin to deny it. I feel like I've loved him forever. It explains everything. It _feels_ like everything. "Of course I love you."

Edward leans down a little, bringing us closer together. I feel surrounded with him and his words, with his smell and his life. He breathes and I want to lick his lips. I want to feel his lips on my lips. "You looove me too?" he teases back, light and air-soft, his sleepy-looking eyes honest and playful.

I nod again and feel his left hand on the small of my back, right before I feel his other on my stomach. His touch is so easy I barely feel it through my shirt when his palm covers my belly button. It's easy and barely a touch at all, not like his hand on my back, holding me up, but his hand on my belly is different. He's gentle, but he's not kidding.

"Tell me it's mine." He smiles.

I giggle at the thought of giving in, of him wanting my belly button, and I shake my head. _He can't just have a part of me. That's silly. You don't own parts of people, not even husbands and wives._

I know when he nudges me back, tickling me like crazy, that you can. Maybe people don't own parts of each other, but the longer we laugh and shush, and tickle and tangle, the more positive I am that Edward owns part of me. Much more than the little part he's asking for, just like I own part of him. It's bigger than my belly button—it's underneath my skin. It's deeper and sort of limitless. I don't have a word for it. It's just his.

I roll and twist under him, cracking up as quietly as I can into his pillows as he tickles under my ribs with his fingertips. "Okay!" I giggle whisper. "Okay! Okay!"

Edward eases up, grinning all the way up to his eyes. He's got me pinned, pressing his hand over my belly button again, still over my shirt. "Tell me it's mine." He laughs softly, all breath.

I turn my head and smile-shine up at him, panting to catch my breath. _Okay, fair is fair._

Pushing my ridiculous looking hair out of my face, I reach around his hand. I press mine to his stomach, over his hoodie, where his belly button should be, so he can see and feel exactly how I do. "Tell me yours is mine."

Edward laughs, the head-back, full body laugh that I love. He brushes his thumb back and forth against my belly when he looks back down. "Okay, Bliss, sure. Deal."

I wonder if he can feel my heart beating under his hand, because there's nowhere in my whole body I can't feel it.

"Deal." I smile. "My belly button is all yours."


	9. Baby

**We do not own Twilight; we only make the characters too young for any of this shit. **

**Yelly-Belly, my partner in this crime. **

**LovelyBrutal is our beta.**

**Chapter Song: ****Drew's ****version of Baby: **_Are we an item? Quit playin'. We're just friends, what are you sayin'?_

**Chapter Eight - Isabella Bliss**

"What are you doing?"

"Eating candy-corn."

"Why?"

"Because I love it."

Edward laughs. "It's March, where did you get candy-corn, princess?"

I bite the white tip off my candy. "It was a gift from a friend." I bite the yellow end off, then I eat the orange middle. There's an distinct order when it comes to eating candy-corn correctly: white, yellow, orange. Any other way is simply unacceptable.

"Alice?"

"Nope." White.

"Lauren?"

"Guess again." Grinning, I chew off the yellow.

"Who?"

"Garrett," I say, popping the orange in my mouth.

"Garrett gave you candy-corn?" There's a smile in his tone. I can picture it: a little bit crooked, a little bit troublesome.

I sit up in bed, slipping under the cold covers. "Yep. Last week I might have mentioned that they're my favorite, and then today he gave me a snack sized bag of Jelly Belly candy-corn."

"I thought Twinkies are your favorite, Bliss."

I smile into my blankets. "Twinkies are my favorite spongy-sweets, but candy-corn is my favorite classic-candy."

"Good to know..." he trails off, "but tell Garrett that I said, if he buys you candy-corn again, I'll break his fucking hand."

I giggle; it was his point, he wanted me to laugh. Not that the threat wasn't very much real in an Edward kind of way, it's just that I can't tell Garrett anything … he might become leery. "I told him I like Coke slushies, too, but he didn't buy me one of those. He said it was too cold out. Not that I care. I'd freeze for coke slushies."

"You're going to get a cavity, baby, with all of the sugar you eat." Edward sounds preoccupied. I wouldn't be surprised if he's rolling up.

I switch my cell phone to my other ear, sinking further into my bed and blankets. "I was deprived as a child."

"You're still a child, Bliss." He exhales. I close my eyes and imagine the white smoke flowing from his lips. I become so entranced, I allow the child comment to slip by. I see his red eyes and silly-high smile as if he were here in front of me.

"I wish you were here," Edward says quietly, taking a hit; smoke swirls through his lungs.

"Me too," I say without opening my eyes; I can practically smell him…

He's coughing now, and I'm rubbing my lips against the collar of his cotton sweater. "Where the fuck is my water?" He coughs; commotion transfers though the phone.

"Look under the bed," I say, pressing my cheek against the inside of the hood.

"Baby, I'm going to—" Edward coughs, "—put the phone down for a second. Fuck!" The phone drops.

I listen while he searches around his room, coughing and struggling to take a breath. He's cussing and breathing hard and out-loud-laughing, but when there's a knock on my door, I stop listening and drop the phone, hiding it under my pillow. After sitting up, I quickly pull down my hoodie-hood and pull my blankets over my chest before calling out that it's okay to come in.

It's my mom.

"You're not asleep yet, Bliss? It's after ten, baby." Mom is a silhouette in the doorway, halfway in and halfway out.

I fake a yawn and shake my head. "Almost," I lie.

"You can come sleep with me and Dad if you want to." Her tone is expectant. I used to always sleep with my parents during storms or after a frightening movie, but not anymore. I haven't slept with my parents since I began spending most of my nights on the phone with Edward.

"I'll stay here, Mom." I try to sound as sleepy as possible. Then I add: "Maybe next time."

She nods, smiles, and leaves.

When I pick up the phone I can hear the sounds of a lighter being lit. I don't tell Edward I'm back on; instead I listen to him smoke. The daughter of a career cop, I've had tons of lectures about drugs and alcohol growing up. Dad will drink a beer after work sometimes, and I've seen my mom smoke a few cigarettes, but they're pretty straight edge other than that, and they expect me to be the same way. I am for the most part.

I smile, remembering my birthday.

So I know drugs are bad, but I could never imagine Edward _not _smoking. It's just a part of who he is, and I love it. I love associating the smell with him … the silly grins and late night munchies. I like the way his voice becomes lazy and drawn, and I love the way he laughs at everything.

I like his lips around the end of a joint, and I love the way he squints his eyes when he inhales. When he holds the smoke in his lungs and smiles, I want to scream: y_ou're so freakin' cute I could bite you! _

I'm not completely dense, though. I know there are bad sides to drugs, but they don't seem to affect Edward, and listening to him smoke over the phone is one of my favorite things to do.

I like the sounds: light, inhale, exhale, sigh, laugh.

Listening is almost better than watching and feeling.

"I'm back," I say, pulling the hoodie over my head, resuming the rub and feel.

"Beautiful, beautiful, baby Bliss. Baby, baby Bliss." He's laughing, taking a hit.

Another plus about Edward being lit: unconfused humility. He'll say exactly what he's feeling without hesitation.

_I love the honesty most of all. _

"I thought about you all day, birdie girl." I hear his bedroom window shut. "I miss your face." He laughs. "I miss your candy wrappers all over my room, and I miss your cold toes on my legs under the covers."

"Oh, yeah?" I say, dying for more.

"I miss you in my bed." Edward sighs. "Come over."

I roll onto my side, keeping his hoodie near my face. I grin so brilliantly, keeping my eyes squeezed tightly closed. "I can't."

"I'll take my mom's car, and I'll come get you." He's only half kidding. "Say yes."

"You'll drive high?"

He's silent for a split moment. "I'm not high." There's another moment of silence before he chokes on his laughter. "I'm so fucking high."

I listen while Edward goes on and on and on about nothing important at all. I take in his tone, and his voice, and his silly, half-slurred words while I lie in the dark, pretending he's close.

"I'm so fucking hungry. I'm so hungry, Bella baby. If you were here, I'd probably eat your elbow."

Smiling, I say, "Edward, tell me a secret."

He says, "I love you."

.

.

.

"I hate that bitch," Alice throws a half-bitten celery stick at Kim as she walks by.

I roll my eyes, pulling my knit beanie down my head just a little bit further. My nose is red, I can feel it. My fingers are frozen, and inside of my wonder-boots, my toes are begging for mercy. It's an unnaturally cold March evening in Forks tonight, but the frosty-fringed air wouldn't keep me away.

_But I should have worn another jacket. _

The boys are playing baseball; Peter is on the pitcher's mound, Edward is on first base, and Ben is standing out in center field, spitting sunflower seeds onto the grass. Esme gave up twenty minutes ago and is watching the game from the car. But there are a few diehards out here, like me and Alice. Or like Kim, Charlotte, Mixie, and Victoria.

The Sluts.

Alice hands me a celery stick from her baggie. I take it, snap the end off and consider throwing the other end at the back of Victoria's head. She wouldn't say anything if I did. She knows better.

"Do you have any more cocoa in your thermos, Al?" My teeth chatter as I speak. It's going to snow. It has to. It feels like the entire world is freezing over.

She nods, handing it over. "We... " she stutters, "need to get … some more."

I nod in agreement, filling my tummy with warm chocolate.

"Do you want … t-t-t-to go to the car … with Mom?" she asks, taking the thermos back in with her black mitten covered hands.

I shake my head. We have to be here for the boys. Especially Peter. I heard an interesting story about Petey recently, and it kind of gave me a new perspective on the kid. Last weekend, after Alice was dead to the world, I went into Edward's room like I usually do. He was on the phone with Pete, who was upset. Edward patted the mattress beside him, I slipped into bed, and even though it felt rude, I listened in on the conversation.

I wasn't able to make out too much, but it was obvious that something was wrong with Pete. Almost an hour later, Edward hung up. He sat back, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked down at me. I asked if everything was okay, but Edward said it wasn't. _Far from it_, he said.

Then: "Peter's mom is an alcoholic." It was an admission, almost like Edward had been carrying it on his shoulders for so long it was dragging him down.

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. Edward went to the window, lit a cigarette, and told me everything. Well, what I can only assume is everything: Petey is an only child, his dad split when he was six, and his mom was left to raise him all alone. She works at a bar in La Push, but spends most of what she makes on booze. _She fucks around a lot,_ he said. She isn't a good parent. She doesn't pay any attention to Pete.

Luckily his dad, the one who took off, pays child support. Once a month, Petey takes the checks from the mail box and forges his mom's signature at the bank. He keeps the cash. It's how he survives.

"It's why he's over here so much," Edward said, blowing smoke out into the air. "He gets lonely and shit."

I nodded, not wanting to interrupt.

"His mom didn't pay the fucking heating bill, so Petey's stuck in a freezing fucking house that was already so cold to begin with," he said.

"Is he coming here?" I asked, rolling to my side.

Edward flicked the cigarette-butt out and came back to bed. "Nah, he's going to Ben's until he can get his mom to pay the bill. I'll probably just ask my dad for the money, or give it to him out of my account."

Alice and Edward both have bank accounts, and inside of those bank accounts is more money than the average fifteen and thirteen-year-old have. I mean, I don't have that type of money. On top of a weekly allowance from Carlisle, Edward and Alice were each given vast inheritances when their Nana Cullen died a few years ago. Old oil money from Texas, I guess. They're not really allowed to touch it, but in case of emergencies, they're allowed to tap in. And I'm sure if Edward told Esme that Petey needed food and heat money she wouldn't have a problem with Edward handing it over.

It just seems like such a huge responsibility for a teenager.

"Why doesn't he live here?" I wondered out loud.

It was a genuine question. Petey and Ben don't really stay the night on weekends anymore, but they're over most days during the week. Carlisle and Esme are not the type of people who would allow a child to fend for themselves. They're givers. I know that for a fact. I live in their givens. I have everything I could ever need at home, but Esme is constantly giving to me. If I ever even mention I want something, she delivers. Its just how she is.

Edward shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "He wants to stay around the house in case his mom needs him."

Unfortunately, it made sense. And it also answered why Petey is the way he is. He didn't have a choice in the matter, his mother forced him to grow up so early.

As Edward and I laid in the dark, he kept talking. He never really stopped. I listened to every word he said.

In quiet whispers, with our legs tangled and our bodies close, Edward explained to me that Ben's family is loyal _Italiana. _His parents are straight-off-the-boat from Italy and a lot older than the average parents for our age. He's the only boy in four children, but not only is Ben the only boy, he's the youngest; much younger than his sisters who are already in college. In fact, the oldest, who has already graduated from college, already has a few children herself.

In Ben's home, he's treated like a king. They cater to his every want and necessity.

"It's just the way it is in an Italian home, I guess," Edward said, laughing a little.

And because Ben's parents are so much older, they are completely and utterly oblivious to everything Ben does or doesn't do.

"He gets away with murder." I laughed, completely understanding.

"Pretty much," Edward agreed, hiding his face in the crook of my neck. I felt his lips on my skin, but he wasn't kissing me; they were just there.

During our conversation the other night, I understood Ben and Petey a lot more than I had the night before. Their lives are so different than mine ... than Edward's. Petey has zero structure, so why wouldn't he get in trouble? He doesn't know any better. And Ben, he sets the rules in his house. He probably takes huge advantage of his parents, too.

So that all explained them, but what about Edward?

He has everything Petey and Ben don't: good parents, money, love and support, structure.

Why is _he_ so unforgiving? He should be more thankful.

_I love him anyway. _

"Look," Alice nods her head toward the field. My eyes sting from blink-less daydreaming. "The boys are up. Petey pitched a no-hitting inning." She stands up and waves. They wave back.

I just smile. Petey steps to the fence before going into the dugout. Kim meets him there, and they speak, but she's easily dismissed. Beside me, Alice is still waving, yelling, "Petey!" She throws another celery stick at Kim. Petey laughs and says, "Don't be so mean, Alice," before joining his team.

She sits down, cursing under her breath. Down in front, sitting in a chair outside the dugout, is Edward. He has one of his baseball hoodies on and over his head. He's digging the heel of his cleat into dusty-clay dirt, and he's spitting sunflower seeds onto the ground, calling out batting techniques to the guy who is up.

He doesn't look and I don't call out his name.

We can't.

We don't function that way.

But we know.

A couple of rows ahead of us, Victoria is whistling at Edward, calling out his number, and swooning all over her friends. "He's so hot," she says, leaning into Mixie. "See how good he looks in those baseball pants?" She giggles, running her fingers through her long black hair. "I can't wait until later tonight." She nudges Kim with her elbow and they squeal together, like they're both in on some inside joke-deal.

_I hate her. _

Edward finally turns around. He spits out a couple of seeds and calls out Victoria's name, never looking at me, but I know. Victoria doesn't hear him; she's too busy laughing with her friends over things I don't even want to consider. He calls her again; white, cold breath leaves his lips.

"Fucking idiot," Alice grumbles beneath her breath, throwing a celery stick at Victoria's back. She turns around with the audacity to look offended. "My brother is calling your name, dip-shit." Alice points to Edward, who is now standing at the fence.

Vic twists away from me and Alice, standing up and walking toward Edward. He waits impatiently, spitting out some more seeds, looking from Victoria to the game. She flips her hair and sways her hips, sticking her hands into her purple hoodie pockets. One of her shoes is untied, and I laugh, wishing she would fall and break her beautiful face.

_That would make this feel so much better. _

Victoria reaches Edward; he makes her wait. He's saying something to someone in the dugout—laughing. She waits, hip to hip, looking over her shoulder toward her friends and briefly toward Alice and I.

When Edward finally faces Victoria, he beckons her closer until her face is almost up against the fence. Alice chuckles under her breath, hiding a little smile. I try and pretend I'm watching Ben bat, but I'm not. Edward is whispering words to Victoria, and I can tell by his scrunched eyebrows, and through the way he spits between words, their conversation is not pleasant. Not for her.

Ben hits a ball out to left field. This marks the end of whatever Edward had to say to Victoria. He moves away from her, taking his seat in the chair. She remains where she is, looking at him, waiting for him to say something—anything. When it doesn't come, she spins around and heads toward her seat, noticeably reprimanded.

She doesn't say another word for the rest of the game.

.

.

.

"Alice?" I speak softly into the dark.

"Yeah," she answers, rolling onto her back.

"Do you love Jasper?" I look over, but I can't see her through the darkness in the room.

She doesn't answer right away. Instead, Alice finds my hand beneath the blankets and squeezes my fingers. "Yes," she says excitedly. "I do. I so do."

This time we roll, facing one another on our sides. I can see the glitter-gloss sparkle in her eye. She's smiling—I can feel its significance. I can sense the lightness and feel-good mood rolling off of her in waves. Secretly, I know how she feels—to be in love.

Love.

Fucking love.

Love feels like tingles and sun-rays.

It feels like a good cry and the best chocolate ever. It's a tightness in your chest and an extra beat of your heart. Love is completeness—sappiness. Hopelessness.

Love gives you tickle-chills and super high, high, high smiles. It keeps you from sleeping. It makes it hard to breathe, blink, care. Love streams and glides everywhere you go. When you're in it—in love, it's always near.

It's a_ feeling._

Love is an indescribable, cumbersome, silly-selfish, consuming, life-changing, goosebump-making, knowing-all-the-words-to-the-song exciting, I-can't-think-straight-without-him overwhelming, sigh-swooning, laugh-out-loud-for-no-reason anxious, fun, rule-causing, jealousy-inducing, leg-kicking, dream-giving, wonderful, filling, shake-trembling, wonder-where-you-are-always obsessive, necessary, requiring, joyful-flow.

_Our_ love is secret-keeping, late-night-sneaking, gift-giving, cream-soda loving, vanilla, trouble, and princess-pie-dusty incomparable.

His love is lace-locked around my bones. His love is forever-never-leaving. Edward's love for me is simple … it's for always and ever.

It's just for us and no one else.

As much as I want to tell my friend, "I'm in love, too!" I cant. I won't.

Our love is zipper-key-locked.

So instead I say, "What does it feel like, Alice?"

Alice blows her bangs away from her eyes, sighing. "It feels like … kind of like … Well, it's sorta close to—It's hard to explain."

I smile. "Try."

"Okay. Do you know when you make a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich and it's so good, you just smile through the entire thing?"

I nod.

"And it's too good to eat too fast, so you eat slow and steady because you know that once this sandwich is gone, if you try to make another, it just won't be the same."

I nod.

"So you eat all around, munching on the crust first. Then you eat along the sides, but your bite goes nowhere near the middle."

I nod.

"Now all you're left with is the center of the peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, and you wait a few moments to eat it because you know, you just know, it's going to be the best part. It's thick with chunky-peanuts and the jelly is sticky-stuck on your fingers."

I nod.

"Finally, you pop the last bite in your mouth and it's better than you could have imagined. It's the best bite ever. It's nonpareil and can never be re-made, not like that particular sandwich. It's a never-again sort of deal."

I nod.

Alice smiles. "Well, love feels pretty similar to that."

_I know. _

Later that night, after I've gone to sleep, Edward wakes me up. He didn't come home after the game. He left with Petey, Ben, Kim and Victoria. I wondered where he was, but I didn't ask. I don't know why. I just didn't.

I glance over at Alice. She is completely under the blankets, snoring. Her foot is hanging off the bed.

"Come," Edward whispers, pulling me up. "Come sleep with me."

I'm halfway asleep on the sneaky walk to his room. He smells like weed and alcohol. His steps are sloppy and his speech is slurred. I have to remind him more than once to keep it down. It's a quarter to four. I have to leave his room soon. I tell him, "Edward, I can't stay." He says, "Try leaving. I dare you."

I stay.

We're lying in bed and his phone keeps beeping. He picks it up and whisper-yells, "Just leave me the fuck alone!" before he throws it across the room.

"Who was it, Edward?" I ask, leaning my back against his chest.

"Victoria," he answers quickly.

"Why?"

Edward groans, sitting up straight. I sit up; he pulls me back against him. "Why what, Bella?"

"Why is she calling you at four in the morning?" I try not to sound insecure and un-trusting, but it's hard. With Victoria, it's hard.

He doesn't answer me.

With this, it's hard.

I turn in his arms, up on my knees, in front of him. Edward won't look at me and I'm wondering why. I lean back on my calves. Edward touches my bare knee. "Let's just close our eyes, sleepy-baby."

I shake my head. "No."

He laughs, but it's venomous and spiteful. "I'm not doing this with you, Bella."

"You have to. You have to, because you owe me. Because you love me, right? Right, Edward?"

He's off the bed, and I don't know where things went wrong. All day I felt good. All day I felt love, and now this. Why the sudden shift? Because he's lit? He's always lit. No. This is something else. Something worse.

"You sound like a fucking child." He scoffs, pulling his blue hoodie over his head. His shirt comes up with it and I can see his back, and it's like, _what? What? WHAT? _

My hands are over my mouth. "You wouldn't."

Edward is patting his pockets, looking for cigarettes. He stumbles. He's drunk. He's a lot of things. "Wouldn't what?" He lights up in his room, sitting against his dresser, waiting for me to answer.

I move to the edge of the bed with a trembling chin and almost soaked eyes. "Your back."

Edward takes a drag of his cigarette, looking much older than fifteen and a half, making me feel exactly thirteen. Exactly little. He's making me feel stupid—little and stupid.

His eyes are blood-shot red and his hands are kind of, sort of shaking. Edward is looking at me now, maybe trying to figure out what the heck is going on. In the meantime, while he figures all of this out, my heart is shatter-smashing.

I shake my hands. I rub them up and down my thighs. My jaw aches. I want to cry.

He's think, think, thinking. It's gotta be hard because he's fucked up. He's faded. He's gone. Edward smokes, looking at me with a curious type of stare. He jumps up to sit on his dresser, still looking. His legs dangle, and his back is slouched forward, lazy and drunk-mellow.

Then.

_Then._

Then he gets it.

When he gets it, he's up. He groans, muttering _fucking Victoria_ under his breath. Then his eyes are wide open and his cigarette is quickly disregarded out the window. Edward is in front of me, on his knees, beside the bed. "It didn't mean anything!" he swears. He tries to touch me, but I back away. I'm unsure. I'm unsure because what do I do?

I mean, I already kind of knew all along, right? But, I mean, I thought it was different, though. I thought love made things different. I just figured that falling in love included all of the normal amenities, like not sleeping with another person. Like not having another girl—Victoria—touch you. If he is in love with me, why does he need her at all?

I'm here.

I'm love.

What is she?

This isn't standard, right?

Last bite of a peanut-butter and jelly? _How could I be so foolish?_

Love is all that other stuff, but love is also heart-ripping, reality-checking, mad-like-crazy, hurt-like-impossible, throat-clenching, eye-burning, soul-taking, mean, torturous, spiteful, conditional—so, so conditional. It's scratches-from-another, and it's a secret-so-does-any-of-this-even-matter?

This love is spirit-breaking and childhood-taking.

My age may be thirteen but my heart is one hundred years old.

From this, I will never recover. Ever.

_I just grew up._

"Please, baby. Please." He's standing up now. Crazy. He's crazy. His hands are in his hair, and he's walking back and forth. His emotions are flipping, hot and cold, love and loveless.

"You're mad at me? Why? You're not my girl. We're just friends. This is dumb. So fucking dumb." Then the next moment: "Bella—baby—princess-precious, I'm sorry. I got caught up. I had to. What was I supposed to do?"

The next: "You're my baby sister's friend. You're a kid. A kid!"

The next: "I didn't mean that. You know I didn't, Bella."

It's six in the morning and I'm done crying. Edward is sitting on the edge of the bed with his back toward me. His face is in his hands and his elbows are on his knees. The alarm on his phone goes off, and I'm supposed to leave and slip back into bed with Alice before she wakes up, but I can't move.

_Love is draining. _

"I don't want her here anymore, Edward."

"Okay," he says lowly. "It's a rule."

"It's not a fucking rule, it's a deal breaker." I can't believe I've said it once it's out, but that was me. It's what love does.

"Okay, I promise."

I laugh, snidely. "We don't promise, Edward, remember? Don't make me a promise because then you can never break it, remember? We don't promise, Edward!" I'm becoming upset again, but I've just had my heart broken, what else am I supposed to feel?

He turns around and his face is so sad. "I swear."

At least if he doesn't keep true he only swore, he didn't promise. I can't deal with broken promises from him.

"I should go." I slip off of his bed sheets, pressing my bare feet onto the carpet carefully.

.

.

.

I don't know when things went back to normal. Edward is an easy person to forgive and I'm easy to convince, I guess. The next weekend I was back in his bed and we were closer than ever. We didn't talk about that night then, and we haven't talked about it since. It's just how things ended up.

It's been three months and so far Victoria hasn't been back to the house once.

They still talk, though. According to him, it's all for "appearances." She's still around, and they still see each other. Victoria calls the house and he hangs with her, but he swears that's where it ends.

_Love is blind. _

So we've moved on, but things are different. And not only with me and Edward, but with Alice, too. She remains a hardcore skater-girl—she'll never grow away from that—but she's matured. She wears the reddest lipstick and blackest eyeliner. She washes her hair everyday and managed to bother her mom until she got the chip on her front tooth fixed. Alice has a counter full of face cleansers and creams because she cannot stand the sight of a pimple. She wears a real bra (sometimes) and deodorant.

Her largest breakthrough is Jasper, though. Alice finally agreed to officially be his girlfriend, and it's been good for them.

He asked her on her fourteenth birthday while we were sitting outside eating caramel apples instead of cake. She said, "Sure,whatever, Jasper." And just like that, it was done; Alice had her first real boyfriend.

The night of Alice's party also marked another first, only this one was for me and Edward.

With Jasper comes Garrett. It's always been that way. They're best friends like me and Alice. Inseparable and compatible, both quiet and likeable, literate and stylish. It had never really been brought to my attention, especially since Garrett kind of started dating this girl, Claire, but apparently all of our friends just assumed that Gar and I should be together because Jasper and Alice are.

As the night went on and word spread to our friends that Jasper and Alice labeled their relationship, the teasing began. Garrett laughed quietly, holding his hands up in surrender when I looked toward him for some support. And it just so happened that Edward, Petey and Ben came home right as I was defending myself, flushed-faced and embarrassed, swearing that Garrett and I are just friends. Garrett only shrugged.

Peter overheard and took advantage of an opportunity to make me cringe. He involved Ben, and they involved Edward.

"Hey, Edward, little-girl Bliss has a boyfriend," Petey called out, hooking his arm around the back of Garrett's neck, holding him in a headlock. Garrett tried to pry Pete's fingers back, but was staying calm as usual as the teasing continued.

Edward opened the refrigerator, smirking. "Is that right?" He glared at me, dead in my eyes. "Who's the sucker?" he asked, sipping on a can of Coke. "Little girl. Princess-kid," he added before he left the kitchen with a bottle of his father's whiskey.

Everyone was in the driveway, watching Jasper and Alice ride their boards when I ran into the house to use the restroom and grab a sweater. I went upstairs because someone was using the half-bath downstairs. I heard music and laughter coming from Edwards room, but after the way he had treated me in front of Garrett and my friends, I ignored his door entirely and went straight into the bathroom.

He was in there.

"Sorry!" I squeaked, closing my eyes and motioning to close the door. I didn't see anything, but I heard him zip his pants, which in itself was completely new.

Edward caught the door before I had a chance to exit completely. He pulled me in and shut the door behind me, locking it.

"Hey, princess," he whispered into my ear, picking me up by my hips and setting me on the counter. "Where's your boyfriend?" He was being vindictive; he knew I didn't have a boyfriend.

Not even him.

He placed a hand on each of my bare knees and opened my legs. He stepped between and lifted my chin using his finger. I'll never forget how lost his eyes were. They were drowning in haze, mislaid in his high. It was the very first time I ever considered asking Edward to stop smoking, if only for a little while. His highs are happening more often—daily. And they were more intense each time.

"Edward," I sighed, leaning my cheek into the palm of his hand.

He pulled on my dress, which was laid mid-thigh. He tugged on the spaghetti strap. He hooked his finger in the neckline, stretching it out. "Why are you dressed like this? You don't like the kid, do you?"

"Garrett?" I asked, truly surprised.

Edward's warm palms lingered on the outside of knees, but as we spoke, they slowly began to brush up my thighs until his hands were under my dress and the tips of his fingers were touching my underwear, lighting me on fire.

"Could you love him like you love me, Bliss?" he asked softly; his lips hovered over my ear.

_Love is skeptical. _

"I don't love him at all," I said, breathless and confused. I didn't know what to do with my own hands, so I kept them on the counter beside my legs.

Marking a first of what will be many reminders, Edward said: "Stay the fuck away from him."

Edward kissed my forehead, helped me down from the counter, and told me to _pull my fucking dress down before I went back outside. _

He apologized the next morning, but it was already done. The possessiveness Edward showed in the bathroom was only the beginning of a very sensitive and stern cycle.

_Love is relentless. _

Flipping onto my stomach, Edward slips a hand under my cotton tank top and rubs my back while we watch TV. It's after midnight and we've been together for about an hour. He'd smoked a little earlier while I sat on his lap by the window. I fed him Skittles afterward and begged him to _please, please, please_ get me some Oreos before we started Dexter.

He's fully relaxed and I'm sugar-high, together and happy. I love his hands on my skin. This and a few little touches every so often is all I ever get. He's so warm and he smells so good, I want him all over me. But I remain untouched and never kissed.

Go figure.

In a moment of braveness, I sit up. Edward watches me with a silly-smirk on his gorgeous lips. As my hands go up my tank and behind my back, Edward asks, "What are you doing, Bella?"

I lower the straps on my unfastened bra and pull it off, placing the silky pink on the nightstand. Edward takes a deep breath, readjusting how he sits in bed. He watches me, waiting for my next move. On my knees, I shuffle until I'm right beside him and lie on my stomach. "Rub my back," I say with a smile.

His finger tips tickle over my warm back skin, beneath my tank. I try to hide the goosebumps on my arms, but I know he sees. I lie my cheek on my forearm, looking up at him while he makes me feel nice and unstrained. His palms are large, hot, burning, charring.

"Why don't you ever touch me, Edward?" I ask very quietly.

He smiles sweetly, avoiding my eyes. "Shhh." He puts a finger up to his lips.

"Alice and Jasper kiss; I've seen them. And you ..."

He pulls his hand out from under my shirt to cover my mouth. "Shhh." His eyes are fire-lit. Edward's cheeks redden and his calm demeanor is slowly fracturing. "Please."

I close my eyes, doing my best to calm my heart pulse. My hands slightly tremble, and between my legs tingles. I press my knees together, suppressing the urge to groan out of frustration.

This kind of frustration.

_Love is tempting. _

"Edward ..." I whisper.

In a motion of surprise, Edward sinks, lying beside me. I open my eyes in time to watch him roll me onto my back. He places one of his knees between my legs and hovers above me. His eyes are high-hooded and his lips look astronomic and inviting. I want to kiss him now, but I'm not that brave.

Edward presses his lips to my forehead and to my jaw. His palms are flat on the mattress beside my head. I reach up and lock my grip around his right wrist.

"What we have is good, Bliss," he whispers. He laughs. "I know you hate it when I say this, but you're so little."

"I am—"

"Shhh." Edward sits up on his knees with one of my legs between his. He touches my thigh, my knee-cap, my calf. He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "This is where I try to be a fucking gentleman and tell you that we have plenty of time for all of this other shit later, right?'

I laugh without answering.

"Come on, Bliss. Tell me to be a gentleman, please." His eyes are half-pleading and half-pressuring. He looks young. He looks like a scared child. He looks his age.

I smile sweetly and whisper gently, _"Be a gentleman." _

Edward sighs a relieved sigh. He lifts my knee and kisses inside my ankle before dropping on the mattress beside me. I roll onto my side, trying to watch TV, but it's no use. My mind is racing and my body is on fire. I don't know what to do with myself. Edward has always affected me, but this is different, and lately, it happens often.

I have an ache for something. I don't know what it is. It burns in the pit of my stomach and tickles at my precious spots. It reddens my cheeks and turns breathing difficult. If I thought love made it hard to think, this ache causes me to be completely useless. It hurts. Literally. I want it to stop, but it doesn't. Not when Edward is around.

"What are we?" I ask, clearing the ache from my throat.

Edward sits up, leaning back against the head board. He turns down the TV and holds a pillow over his lap. "What?"

"We're together, right?"

"Right now?"

"Edward."

He's pulling on his hair again, rubbing his hands up and down his face. "Yeah, I guess, baby."

I'm up now, with my own pillow on my lap. "What does that mean?"

He's agitated and annoyed. It's times like these that he easily causes me to feel inadequate. Our age difference is an easy target and better excuse, but this secret is the Hangman's noose. Edward's reminded me a few times of what would happen if anyone ever caught us together. There are a lot of people to consider, and one of those people is Alice. If I'm being truthful, my relationship with Edward is a betrayal to our friendship. I lie to her every time I slip out of her bed and into Edward's. Every time I answer his phone call or feel this ache, I'm lying again. I lie to her every time I touch him, or tell him that I love him.

We're lying to everyone.

We're good at avoiding each other when other people are around. It's amazing how simple it is to turn off any outside emotion when my heart wants to scream _he's totally mine._ But when his parents or Alice are with us, I'm back to being his sister's friend and he's her older brother.

We're finer at pretending when Petey and Ben are over. We have our act down pat, and unless we slip up, our secret is safe.

But that doesn't mean that our relationship is any less real to the two of us. We're star-crossed, but that doesn't mean we don't feel what we feel. It doesn't mean that I don't want what we have confirmed.

_Love is concealed, but it is concrete. _

"It means that I love you, but—I don't know, Bella." Edward is out of bed, by his window lighting a cigarette. "Do I really have to be your boyfriend?" He spits outside the house. "Aren't we good? I thought this was good, Bliss."

"It is."

"Then what the fuck?" He flicks ash out the window. "Let's not be complicated. We're already so fucking complex."

"I know," I whisper into the pillow I hold.

"We'll never be apart, B. You're my safe-spot. Can we just agree to that, baby girl?" Edward shuts his window. He's back in bed, pulling us both under the covers. Our legs knot and his arms hold me near. "You have my heart," he says softly, carefully. "You have nothing to worry about with me."

.

.

.

"You're not going." Carlisle drops his fork onto his plate and sits back in his chair to cross his arms over his chest. "I know his mom isn't there, and I'm lenient, but I'm not that fucking lenient."

"I'll be back." Edward presses, taking a bite of his steak. "It's not a huge deal."

I feel stuck in the center of this argument. Petey wants to throw Ben a birthday party at his house, but Carlisle doesn't want Edward over there without an adult around. Edward isn't taking no for an answer and has been giving his parents a hard time all evening. He's being impractical.

"Edward, your dad said no." Esme takes a drink from her wine glass, trying to hold back her frustration. Her eyes look distant and her tone is empty. … She's given up.

Alice and I share a look from across the table. She smiles, hiding her embarrassment about her brother. Edward's cognition toward his family has deteriorated rapidly in the last four weeks. He's smoking all of the time, and if he isn't smoking, he's drinking—or both. His sixteenth birthday is next month, and I don't know what kind of door this is about to open, but I can feel it ... it's going to be dramatic.

All of the boys are turning sixteen this year.

Edward is becoming restless. He's always talking: _"Baby, when you turn eighteen, we're out of here,"_ and _"One day we won't live in this fucking town with these fucking people." _

The only thing that offers any comfort in his talk is that I'm included.

While his relationship with his family is growing strained, we've never been tighter. We're completely in love and completely taken up, and I find security in his word.

_He'll never go anywhere without me. _

"Well, I'm going." Edward shrugs his shoulder, drinks the rest of his Coke, and leaves the dining room.

The table is silent. Carlisle turns red, Esme pours herself some more wine, and Alice pushes her plate away. I feel misplaced.

When Edward walks back through the dining room toward the stairs, Carlisle follows, and their arguing continues upstairs. I hear little snippets of the fight:

"Who the fuck do you think is driving you over there?" Carlisle's voice is nothing less than demanding.

"Victoria," is all Edward says, like his father's words mean nothing.

There are muffled words exchanged between them, but I hear Carlisle clearly when he distinctly yells: "You're not leaving this house with that fucking girl." The power and finality in his tone stops my heart.

I keep my face calm, taking a bite of my salad.

A door slams. The same door is opened and slammed again. Esme pours more wine, and Alice chips away her nail polish.

"She isn't my girlfriend!" Edward laughs spitefully, running down the stairs.

His dad is right behind him. "Do I look fucking stupid to you, Edward? Do I look like I was born yesterday?"

Edward looks at me, winks and chuckles. "Do you really want me to answer that, Dad?" He steps into the living room.

"I don't want you fucking around with that girl, Edward. If you get her pregnant—"

My heart stops.

I drop my fork.

I smile at Alice.

My insides are turn-twisting.

Esme looks unsurprised.

"What?" Edward asks, confused.

"Don't act so fucking stupid, Edward. Victoria is exactly the type of girl who would do anything for a way out." Carlisle sounds considerably calm, almost like he feels sorry Edward didn't know any better. Like he just realized his son is only fifteen.

After a few minutes of nothing, Edward finally agrees. "Fine. I'll stay home." And it's the end of the conversation.

I don't see Edward for the rest of the night. After the argument is over, Esme takes her bottle of wine onto the porch and Carlisle joins her. They go to bed sometime after ten. Alice and I stay up and watch a movie, but she falls asleep about eleven.

For some reason I don't get up right away and go to Edward. I stay in bed and play with Alice's hair in her sleep. She sleeps so deeply. I sometimes wish I was such a sound sleeper. I bet there is nothing that can wake her up. For that, I guess I'm grateful.

The conversation Carlisle had with Edward earlier about Victoria is literally haunting me. I watch TV, and I hear stories—I know teens get pregnant, and I guess I know sometimes girls do it on purpose. It's amazing how much I've learned about the realities of human nature since becoming friends with Alice, though. Right away, the day I met her, I learned that life isn't as black and white as my own parents want me to believe.

For their sake, I make-believe that it is, but here, it's impossible. It's unallowable.

Carlisle and Esme don't permit their children to wander blind without common sense. Their world is not vanilla, and it was probably very smart that Carlisle warned Edward and about Victoria. A small part of me is even happy to know that my Cullen parents don't like her, but it doesn't stop the shock of it from hurting.

The thought of anything like that ever happening is crushing.

Edward tells me he isn't with Victoria, but that's all he really offers because it's an avoided topic. It's been summertime so I haven't seen Kim, and as gross as this may sound, she is where I hear any information about Victoria from. I have no choice other than to trust Edward.

Everything is about to change, though. In a few weeks Alice and I will officially be in high school.

I'm excited. I'm excited to grow up. I'm excited to learn. I'm excited to start this next part of my life and share it with Alice.

I'm excited to see Edward. Kind of.

I'm also afraid.

He'll be in my face all day. There will be no averting him. I'll have to see him around Victoria. I'll have to act like we're just friends. He'll ignore me and I'll ignore him, and it'll just have to be because we don't have another choice.

It's one thing to pretend in front of our family, but it's an entire different danger to do it in front of a high school of people.

Around midnight I decide to get out of bed.

The house is dark, quiet with sleep. I tip-toe my way down the hall. For some reason, tonight seems especially still, and at first I cannot figure out why, but it comes to me when I reach Edward's room and notice that his TV isn't on like it usually is.

I place my hand on the door-knob, turning it slowly.

The TV is dark.

His bed is made.

The window is open.

Edward isn't here.

I close the door behind me, stepping into the vacant room. I walk like a whisper, opening the bathroom door. He isn't in there either.

Sitting on the bed, I look down at my cell phone, wondering if I should call. He didn't tell me he was leaving. His parents can't know he's gone. He must have left when we all went to bed.

His room is the same even without him here. It still feels like a secret, and I find comfort in the smell and feel. Setting my cell phone on the night stand, I pull down the blankets and glide into bed. I hide my nose in his pillow and close my eyes, burying any thoughts of Victoria deep away.

_Love is effortful. _

.

.

I wake up with him between my legs.

"You're here," he whispers against my skin, kissing my neck. "I can't believe that you're really fucking here." His voice is heavy, dripping hunger. "You feel fucking amazing, Bliss."

I open my eyes, finding his face in the dark. He smells like he always does: sugar, weed, nighttime, and deviltry.

His hands are all over me, stroking my arms, rubbing his nose along my collar bone. His thumbs rub the exposed skin of my stomach and his lips brush across my chin. The tops of his thighs touch the backs of mine.

"Edward, what are you doing?" I ask sleep-silly.

He doesn't answer; instead he gets off of the bed and takes off his shoes. He kicks them across the room before unzipping his sweater. I lie in bed watching; my chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. His eyes are wandering from my face, to my legs, to my stomach, to my toes. His sweater falls to the carpet.

Something is different.

He walks around to his side of the bed where a water bottle is set on his night stand. He takes off the top, drops it on the floor, and drinks the water in one taking.

The empty plastic is thrown somewhere across the room.

Before he gets back into bed, Edward removes his white v-neck. I can see black his boxer-briefs on his hips. His jeans hang low … his chest is amazing. Hard. Warm. Toned.

I inhale a sharp breath.

"I love you," he whispers, situating himself back between my knees. Edward's hands remain on my legs. He runs them up, hissing as he touches the length of my thighs. "Your skin feels like apple butter, baby."

His palms are on my stomach, pushing my shirt up the higher his hands go. Over my bra, Edward touches my breasts for the first time. My skin tingles, sizzling as my brain tries to keep up with what I feel when he touches me this way. His words burn. His touch excites. My cheeks glow. My hands tremble-move. My toes curl into bed sheets. My knees shimmy and wobble. My voice is stuck, trapped in my throat.

The painful ache is back, killing me softly.

Edward kisses the top of my shoulder and the spot right below my ear. I close my eyes, keeping small cries to myself.

He never touches me this way. Ever.

"Tell me you love me, Bella," he says, kissing down my arm.

"I love you." My voice is small and unsteady.

"Your skin is so fucking warm." He bites my wrist. I whimper.

Edward won't meet my eyes. I'm beginning to think it's out of his control. He tries to concentrate on my skin; touching every inch of me. When I touch his chest, he shakes. "Please don't stop. Please, please don't stop."

I slide my hand from his chest, down his side, and rub my open palm across his lower back. Edward's eyes are closed now; his eyebrows are scrunched, his lips swollen and red. He whispers words I can't even begin to make out; words about love and beauty and purpose, _I think._ His whispers press lightly into my skin, giving me goosebumps and chills. I touch his arms and his shoulders. I shut my eyes and focus on the way his muscles move beneath my hand. I feel them stretch and flex and contract.

_Love is strong. _

Edward grips the bedsheets beside my head. He groans into my neck, carefully nibbling on sensitive skin. "I'm so fucked, princess baby. You have me so fucked up. Keep me beneath your skin … _keep me with you_." He coasts his nose along my throat, pressing scorching lips against my jaw bone.

His skin is abnormally warm. It burns to touch and thrills to kiss. I tap my lips lightly to the pulse point at his throat. His heartbeat dances and twirls more rapidly than my own. I press my lips to it a second time just to feel his life. "Your heart is beating so fast," I whisper quietly.

Edward releases the bedsheets and touches my face while his his lips push and pull on my ear lobe. I reach my small hand around his wrist, keeping his hot hand to my warm face. I can feel his racing heart-pulse on my fingertips. I can practically hear it beating out loud. I can feel it in my chest. It echoes through my ears. His heartbeat trembles my skin and chatters bones. His beat is swift, smooth―too fast.

He's kissing everywhere but my lips. He kisses inside my knee and on top of my foot. Edward rubs his cheek the along the inside length of my legs, and when he comes near my center, we both shift and breathe harder.

I've turned to nothing, weightless and limp. I sink into black bed-cotton and die by his touch. Something is so different, but right now, I can hardly care.

He whispers words of love and longing and need. He pushes up my shirt and lies his stomach on mine.

It's unreal.

"Never, never, never," he whispers incoherently. "My girl—my princess girl," he says, trickling his fingers down my rib-bones. _"Baby, baby, baby." _

My legs are open wide. He's over me. Hovering.

"Edward," I whisper, searching for what to do.

"Shhh. Be still."

Then it happens.

I'll never recover from _this_. Ever.

_Love is unending. _

In one swift move, Edward's entire body shifts. His lips are on my lips—warm, full, hard. And his center is pushed against my center—hot, brimful, deep.

I cry out against his lips. My back arches. My finger tips dig into the mattress.

The ache intensifies, engulfing my entire body in its tingle and burn.

With only our clothes between us, Edward thrusts against me a second time.

In this heat, my body reacts. I don't even realize I just had my first kiss; all I can focus on is getting him closer—getting him to do it again.

He does.

My hands grip onto his sides.

I cry out.

He does it again.

My knees fall painfully open to fit him—to get him more near.

Edward kisses me again. Again. Again.

Then his tongue touches my bottom lip, and I'm gone. All other sensation goes completely numb except for the taste and feel of his tongue in my mouth. Edward's hand grips under my chin; he tips my head back, kissing me heavily.

I've never kissed, but this is natural. It's easy. It's supposed to be.

Our mouths work slowly. He kisses me like you're supposed to be kissed. He kisses me like he means it.

_Our love is sweet-everything and permanently-bound. _

There will never be anything else but this.

His hips have stopped moving. I don't even know if we breathe …

Edward smiles with closed eyes before kissing me with his lips, once, twice, three times. "I love you," he whispers, tenderly-worshiping.

He kisses me like Carlisle kisses Esme.

He kisses me all night.

He kisses me until the alarm goes off.

Then he kisses me _hello_ before I leave his room.

_Because love is never saying goodbye. _

Ever.


	10. Capable

**We do not own Twilight; we only emotionally fuck the characters.**

**Yelly-Belly, this is it.**

**LovelyBrutal is our beta.**

**KO – Capable: ****_I lick a ring around this L so that it burns all night, and I pass around that Philly so, so, so we can all get high. You see I never knew, I never had a clue that, that you were capable of love_****_—_****_that you were capable of love. _**

**Chapter Nine – Dusty**

I knew they were going to give me this piece of shit.

It's been on the side of the house, covered with a car cover for the last seven fucking years—they must really think I'm stupid.

But I smile and act surprised anyway. "This is great, Dad."

I'm grateful, even if I do a shitty job of showing it—I'm not a complete asshole. A couple of months back I noticed my dad had put new tires on this beast. I asked him what the deal was; he smiled and said he didn't know what I was talking about. For being a lawyer, he's a shitty liar. I tried not to laugh at the irony.

_A paint job wouldn't have killed anyone._

Mom stands back, forging a smile. She hates this car. This car represents the good ol' days. The days before my dad was successful; when they had to deal with overwhelming school loans, unplanned children, past due notices, bitch mother-in-laws, and late nights at the office. This car is the reminder of when our family wasn't so fucking picture perfect.

My parents play a good game now, but shit wasn't always ideal. Mom was an eighteen-year-old waitress who would entertain a higher education by taking an English class or two at the community college until she decided what she_ really _wanted to do with her life. My dad had just relocated to Washington from Texas to begin working on his undergraduate degree in law. They met, dated, moved in together, and got pregnant with me in a little over a year.

Mom and Dad got married two weeks before I was born.

They swear it was love at first sight, and they promise that just because I wasn't planned, I was not unwanted. According to them, they planned on getting married and starting a family once my dad became a lawyer. But plans changed when I came along, and their family started sooner than anticipated.

One unplanned pregnancy is shitty, but workable. A second one is just fucked up and unmanageable. They won't admit it, but things went from bad to worse once Alice was born. We lived in a one bedroom apartment in Seattle with a little less than nothing to call our own.

My nana cut us off because she hated my mom, and Mom couldn't work because she was always pregnant or caring for a baby. My dad never gave up on his future and stayed in school full time, but because my mom couldn't work, and he had no support from home, he had to.

Keeping a roof over our heads and diapers on our asses was a lot of pressure for a couple of twenty-somethings, and they caved … often.

In no time at all, my mom was resentful and my dad was bitter. He refused to give up on his future, and my mom no longer had one that didn't include bottles and potty training.

This car is all we have left of that imperfection.

Oh, and everlasting emotional damage.

"I hope you weren't expecting something else. This is your first car, it's supposed to be fucked up, Edward. It's a rite of passage." Dad smiles, handing over the keys. I snatch them from his hand and unlock the creaky door.

Bella covers her smile with her hand. I wink and get in.

Alice is tapping on the passenger side window. She may be more excited than I am. "Let me in!"

I reach over and unlock the door before placing both hands on the steering wheel and adjusting the rear view mirror. Alice gets in and claps; I look up at my dad, and I say, "This is good, Dad."

"Will you drive me and Bliss to school?" Alice asks, looking into the backseat. Her feet are bare and her fishnet leggings have a hole in the right knee. Alice's shirt has the neck cut out, and her shorts are cut-off from a pair of corduroys she wore when she was ten.

I don't know if my sister is thinking what I'm thinking, but we used to sit in the back of this car while our parents would scream it out, sitting where she and I are sitting now. Does she remember the sound of the car door slamming when Mom got out on the side of the road after she accused our dad of having an affair? Does she remember what that vibration felt like? Or how hard the car shook? Or how strong our mom seemed in that moment?

Does she remember our dad's face when he realized our mom would rather walk than sit next to him a moment longer?

Does she remember the sound the tires made when Mom pulled out of the driveway later that night after she found out her suspicions were true?

Does Alice remember how cold the car was when Mom woke us up at three in the morning to go back home from Aunt Elizabeth's house in Newcastle because our dad promised it would never happen again?

I do.

I remember it all.

And I remember that was only one fight of many.

I press my foot down on the brake. I turn the steering wheel. I adjust the rear view mirror.

My mom tells everyone my family calls me Dusty because I overheard my dad cussing and repeated what he said—that's not true. It was her I heard. The day she called my dad an asshole, Mom had to drop out of school because they couldn't afford daycare anymore. It's as crystal fucking clear as this very moment is: I was four, sitting on the couch watching cartoons, Mom was holding Alice on her hip, and Dad had just got home from school.

Their actual argument is fuzzy, and the only reason I know what they were arguing was about is because I asked a few years back, but I remember my mom's face. She was livid. I remember her hair was messy and she had her hand on her lower back like it hurt. My dad was sitting at the kitchen table with his face in his hands. His hair was longer and his face was tired.

He said something like: "I'm trying, Esme."

And she said: "You're a fucking asshole."

Are kids supposed to remember shit like that?

If Alice does, she never talks about any of it. Neither do I.

"I'll drive you guys," I tell her, shaking the gear shift. I look over at Bella and smile. Then I look away, but not before I see Bella look over at my mom.

When Mom notices Bella, her grimace is instantly removed and replaced with a smile so large it battles the fucking sun for brightness.

My girl has that affect on us.

Who really knows, but it was like Bliss came into our lives at just the right moment. I guess you can call it fate, if you believe in that shit. She's the friend my sister needed, the daughter my mom wanted, a child my dad doesn't feel guilty about, and the fucking reason my heart beats.

Isabella Bliss is the pièce de résistance. She's our saving fucking grace. She is my pulse and my nervousness and my … everything. _She is my everything._

"You're not driving anyone anywhere until you get your license." Dad places a hand on the roof of the car before leaning in to whisper, "The last thing I need is for Charlie Swan to pull you over and take the fucking car because you're driving without." Dad shakes his head and grumbles, "Tight-ass cop."

"Dad!" Alice's eyes open wide. This is nothing new, though. Our dad doesn't particularly care for the good chief. He says shit about him all of the time when Bella isn't around. "She'll hear you."

Dad reaches over me and starts the car. "No, she won't," he says, checking the mileage. "I'm keeping track, Edward."

_No, he's not._

"Whatever," I mumble.

"Watch it, kid. Just because you're sixteen doesn't mean I won't smack the shit out of you." This time he winks, turning the ignition.

.

.

.

"I don't want you to go," Bella whispers, forking her piece of cake. The red icing has stained her lips light pink. She takes a small bite, pushing some hair behind her ear, looking up at me before focusing on her plate again.

"I know."

"Then don't." She doesn't sound hopeful. She knows I'll go anyway.

I smile and sigh, tugging on her ear lobe. "I'll be back. I'd promise it, but we don't promise, baby. So, I swear."

Bella sets her plate on the nightstand and falls back onto the pillows with her arms crossed over her chest. She's pouting, upset because I have to leave her alone tonight. Petey's mom is working late, so he's throwing me a party. I can't miss it. How would it look? And what would be my excuse? I wouldn't have one. Besides, I want to go.

It's my sixteenth birthday.

_She's still so young._

"I'm going back to bed with Alice," she says as I walk toward my closet.

I close my eyes, holding onto my patience. I just went through this same shit with my parents not even two hours ago. I did the birthday shit with them. I ate the cake and smiled at the car. I thanked them for the gifts, and laid on the couch with my mom while she cried about what a cute fucking baby I was, and how fucking sad she is that I'm growing up. I listened to my dad while he went on and on about whatever the fuck case he has going on right now. I did shit right, and the moment I asked them if I can go over to Petey's, I was shot down.

I fought with them for over an hour about it.

Being told no is nothing new, but I thought tonight would be different. I thought they would throw me a fucking bone and let this one time slide. I thought wrong.

My parents don't like me over at Petey's because of his mom. My parents don't like Petey at Petey's house because of his mom. She unpredictable and never in the right state of mind, so I get it. But if she isn't there, whats the big fucking deal? There isn't one.

They told me I can have the party here, and they're cool about me smoking and drinking, but I don't want my parents around. I want to go out and come back to my girl. I want my home to remain calm like it has been all day. I just need the night. That's all. And now I have to go behind their back.

Bella saw how much shit they gave me. I can't believe she is about to do it, too.

I pull my black and red flannel from the hanger and slide it over my white tee, buttoning it up, not saying a word until I'm placing my flat-billed NY hat on my head. "Bliss, don't do this." I grab my pack of cigarettes from inside my top drawer and turn toward her. "I said I'll be back."

"It's your birthday, so why can't you stay here?"

I lift my hat and run my fingers through my hair. "And do what, Bella?" I set the hat back on my head and turn around to search for the keys to my car. "Petey and Ben are throwing me a party. It's not a big deal. I'd take you if I could, but we both know that isn't an option, Bliss." I find my keys and twirl them around my finger.

"I love you, though." I say with a smile, but she's not happy.

I wasn't supposed to fall in love with her. Before this happened, I didn't even know I was capable of loving another person like I love B. My idea of love is distorted and screwed. The only example I had was my parents, and they spent the first ten years of my life cheating, yelling, crying, and raging. They used my sister and I as leverage in their battles, and used their supposed love as a weapon to one-up each other. Until recently, I was under the impression that was how you love someone. Until Bella.

It's different now. My parents are passionate and not afraid to show how in love they are. They're always touching or looking at each other. My mom and dad move together, and they're considerate of one another. They're a team. It's them against the entire fucking world. And I want that with Bliss some day, I guess. But it's complicated. More complicated than I can wrap my mind around. It's been hard for me to forget how they were in the beginning. My parents stained my mind and wrecked me emotionally. But not only that. She's so protected, and I'm not. I should shield her from that, right?

I won't, though.

We're attached. We probably always have been. At least it was that way for me. So when my parents look at me like I'm a little asshole because I fucked up at school again, or when Petey comes to me with his home-life bullshit, or when I'm simply fucked in the head and in a weird mood, I know she'll be the only one I can turn to who won't either expect something from me, or be disappointed because of something I did or didn't do.

Love is fucking weird like that. It's so forgiving and unconditional.

Bella loves me no matter what. She's too naïve to know any better, and I'm reckless enough to let her, because I love her, too.

She's my softer-side, and I'm her motherfucking monster.

"Bliss, baby, come on." I pull the blankets over her legs, tucking her in so she'll stay, but she kicks them off.

I get frustrated, pull them off the fucking bed and try not to punch the wall.

"You're acting like a child," I say, rubbing the palms of my hands over my face to keep from getting upset.

But it's too late.

"But that shouldn't surprise me, right, princess?"

Bella sits up, letting her legs hang over the side of the bed. "Don't be mean to me, Edward," she whispers as I step over my comforter and walk toward the bedroom window.

I light a cigarette and lean against my computer desk while I smoke. "I'm not. You're a baby. Tell me I'm wrong."

_I'm not. I know I'm not wrong. _

She has a fistful of bedsheets, and her cheeks are beginning to burn. I'm making her sore. She hates it when I call her out on her age. It's why I do it.

"Say it, Bliss. What's on your mind, little girl?"

"Shut up, Edward," she whispers.

"Why? Do you want me to stay home and color with you, sweet-girl? Maybe we can braid each others hair and tell fucking secrets." I flick the cigarette butt out the window and watch as she gets angry. "That's what my fucking sister is for, Bella. Not me."

_Love is mean. _

I close the window, turn on the TV, and pick up the blanket and throw it on the bed. I don't say anything—I don't trust my words. I don't trust my actions. I don't want to hurt her more than I already have. And I can. So easily.

My hand is on the door handle, and I'm about to leave, but I look at her first.

She's wiping a tear away.

I'm a sucker and a dick. But I can't help it.

.

.

.

I'm not even out of the driveway before my phone rings.

"I'm on my way, Pete," I answer.

"Cool. Your parents let you out of the house, or what?" Music is playing in the background. I can hear voices and laughter.

I reach the end of the driveway and flip on my head lights, turning onto the main road. "Nah. They gave me shit. I had to wait until they were in bed."

He laughs. "Whatever, bro. Just get here. Sluts are on their way."

_Victoria. Mixie. Kim. Charlotte. _

"See you in a few." I hang up.

I turn on the radio, but there isn't shit on. The Volvo has a CD player, but I don't have any CDs. I hold the steering wheel with one hand, and my cell with the other. The picture on the front of my phone is one I took of Alice and Bella earlier. My birthday was quiet compared to the last few I've had. I didn't want to make a big deal of it because I knew Petey and Ben were doing this for me tonight. My family and Bliss are the only ones who helped me celebrate today. It was kind of, sort of all I needed.

The girls made me pancakes for breakfast. I watched Alice ride her board for a few hours afterward. Bella sat next to me. I took a nap. When I woke up, the hallway in front of my bedroom door was filled with balloons. I watched a movie with my dad. They gave me the car. My mom ordered dinner. I kissed Bella in the hallway when no one was around. I took a picture of Alice and Bliss sleeping on the couch.

I fought with my parents and woke them up.

Watching the road, I dial her number. She doesn't answer.

"Baby, I'm sorry. Answer your phone later, okay? Let me show my face and I'll be home. You can't be mad at me on my birthday. It's a rule." I was an asshole. I feel like shit.

When I see Victoria's car in Petey's driveway, I feel worse.

If there's a wrong side of town to live on in Forks, Petey lives there. His house is run-down and small. The white fence out front is broken and chipped. All of the grass is dead, and there's a big fucking tree right in the middle of the lawn, which has roots so overgrown, it's broken up his driveway and sidewalk. The inside isn't any better; they have mismatched furniture and stained walls. The kitchen is always dirty, and the bathroom is fucking disgusting. His mom never cleans, and she tosses her booze bottles all over the place. It smells like Aqua-Net and roach spray. But it's whatever. It's all Petey has, and we get to hang whenever we want.

Right before I walk into the house, my phone beeps. A message from Bliss: _It's after one. It's not your birthday anymore. _

I try her phone, but she doesn't answer.

Petey opens his front door before I try again.

"Dude, how long have you been standing out here?" He moves aside so I can walk in.

Behind him, there's a house full of people. All who, with the exception of Ben and Pete, don't really give a shit about me at all. They're here to get drunk, lit, fucked … but they're not here to celebrate my birthday. I did that shit earlier when it mattered. I should be at home with them now. That's what I should do. That's where my heart is.

But I walk in anyway.

I slip my phone into my back pocket and look around.

"Dimitri is in the kitchen," Pete says in my ear before hugging me, wishing me a happy birthday.

"It's after one, Petey. It's not my birthday anymore," I say, taking his bottle of Jack and tossing a swig back.

It hurts.

_Love fucking hurts. _

"Whatever, dick. I got you something, come on." I follow Petey through his small living room, saying hey to whomever.

Ben is in the kitchen. He's smoking a bowl, sitting on Petey's broken kitchen table. He sees me and stands up with a lungful of smoke. "Happy birthday, bro," he chokes, bringing me in for a hug.

My phone is burning a fucking hole in my pocket. I can't stop thinking about Bella, even though this is all going on around me. I lift my hat and run my hand through my hair. I take a hit from Ben. I take another drink from Pete.

"The Sluts are on one tonight, Ed. Thank Dimitri later." Petey nudges me with his elbow, nodding toward Vic, Kim, Mixie and Charlotte.

Victoria's on her knees with her hair pushed over one side of her head and a rolled up dollar bill in her hand. She leans over the table, placing the bill at her nose. She closes her eyes before swiftly snorting three white lines like it's nothing—like she does it all the time.

"Oh, shit!" She laughs, falling back onto her calves with her eyes still closed. She drops the bill on the table and rubs her nose. _"Fuuuuuck!"_ she says lazily, finally opening up.

Victoria stands up and dusts her jeans off. She flips her hair over and rubs her nose with the back of her hand.

"That wasn't your first time, you fucking liar." Dimitri is standing back laughing at Victoria. His arms are crossed over his chest; he shakes his head.

"Yes it was!" Vic insists, slapping Dim in the chest.

She's lying. Victoria is a horrible liar. When she lies, she fucks with her hair. She twists it around her finger or pulls it up and lets it down.

She's a fucking liar.

"Is that coke?" I ask Petey quietly.

"Yeah. Dimitri got his hands on some. I guess he's selling that shit now. Gave the Sluts a try for free." Petey hands me the bottle. I take another drink.

My pocket still burns.

It's Kim's turn to snort, but she isn't as good as Victoria. Kim sneezes and blows away part of a line. Dimitri gives her shit for it. She tries again, but it doesn't go much better than the first time. Her eyes are watering and her hands are shaking. Kim is a follower, though. She's probably only doing this to look good in front of V. Between Petey and Victoria, I bet Kimberly is so full of regret.

"Edward!" Victoria finally spots me. She steps across the kitchen, rubbing her nose one last time before jumping onto me. Her arms circle round my neck, her chest pushes against mine, and her legs wrap around my hips. She's wearing another neon colored top and a pair of holey jeans. Her bra straps are showing, and her nail polish is chipped.

I give her a one-armed hug and set her down, taking a step away.

"What's up with that shit?" I nod toward the table.

Ben blows smoke in Vic's face; she punches him in the arm.

She rolls her eyes, braiding the ends of her hair. "Nothing. Just some shit."

"You're a coke slut now, or what?" Petey laughs, throwing his head back. He's fucked up, which is exactly where I need to be.

I met Dimitri in the beginning of the school year, through Vic, actually. Up until now, he's been strictly bud—small-time, dime bags and shit. He sells a few pills, and he hooked me and the boys up with some E a few months back, but this hard shit is new.

He's a skinny motherfucker, but the girls dig him. Mixie is always on his dick. Probably because he has the drugs. He'll be a junior this year, so I don't have to worry about where I'm going to buy from for a while. He says he's going to college after high school, but he won't. Guys like him are lifers in a town like this. His dad works at the lumber yard, and his mom works at the bank. He isn't going anywhere.

"Happy birthday." Dimitri drops a bag into the palm of my hand. "It's on Petey," he says, draping his arm over Mixie's shoulders. She's kissing his neck, gripping onto his shirt.

"Sweet." I open the bag and smell.

_So fucking good. _

"Roll a Philly—let's fucking celebrate." He pulls out a chair where the girls were just doing their dirt. "Unless ..."

"Nah. I'm good with the green, Dim."

I'm cutting open a cigar when Victoria sneaks up from behind me and covers my eyes with her ice cold hands. "Guess who?" she whispers into my ear.

I smile, setting the cigar and the knife down. "Vic, stop messing around."

"Only if you promise to share."

I shrug. "Whatever."

She bites on my ear. It hurts my stomach. I think about my girl at home. I close my eyes and think of her face. I think about the way Isabella's hair looks translucent red in the sun. I think about her in my bed. I think about her until my stomach stops hurting, but my heart aches.

_Love is relentless. _

Victoria sits in my lap. She leans back with the her head on my shoulder. Her eyes are wide open and her skin is tacky. She smells like heat … she's hot. Her chest rises and falls with heavy, deep breathing. Her pupils are dilated, almost completely black. Victoria keeps fucking with her hair. Flipping it over, then over again. She's rubbed her nose red. She grinds her teeth. It's fucking gross.

"Touch me, Edward," she says, totally bent.

Petey snorts. Ben hides his face in his hands and laughs. He's so fucking lit, his eyes are hardly open. Mixie has straddled Dimitri's lap, literally dry-fucking him in front of everyone. She moans loudly. Dimitri winks from over her shoulder. Kim and Charlotte share the same look as Victoria and Mixie—they're fucking spun.

I push Victoria off of my lap and start rolling.

Three hours later, the room is spinning. Victoria's back on my lap. My hands are on her hips in an effort to keep the room still. Victoria's unfazed, holding her hair off of her neck, moving with the bass of the stereo. Her eyes are far away and her cheeks are red. Victoria's bra straps have moved down her arms. Her neon-pink tank is pulled down too low, showing black lace. She's messy. She's persistent. She's just like me.

"I gotta go," I mumble, forcing her off.

Victoria pushes my hands away and scoots back onto my lap. "You can't go. I haven't given you your present yet."

She pulls my hat off and puts it on her head. Victoria rolls her hips and tries to kiss my mouth, but I move my head away, taking my hat back.

"I don't want anything from you, V."

The music is loud and the house is still full of people. Ben is next to me, kissing Charlotte. I can hear Petey in the kitchen. Dimitri and Mixie are no where to be seen. I feel claustrophobic. I feel trapped in and stuck. I push Victoria off and pull my cell phone out of my back pocket. It takes a second for my eyes to focus.

Nothing from Bliss.

"Fuck. I have to go." I stand up, but Victoria pulls me down.

She kisses me. She tastes wrong. Dry. But I kiss Victoria back, trying to force away thoughts of Bella. Trying to bury disappointment away. I should go home, but I know she won't be in my bed. I fucked up.

I don't know why I do this.

But Bella is just as fake as I am. She isn't better than me—she's a fucking liar, too. She's tricky and convincing. Bella is crafty and deceiving. She plays her parents for fools, and she betrays my sister every time she's with me. She fucks me up with her tears in my bed, but doesn't answer the phone when I need her the most.

She isn't my girlfriend. She can't dictate what I do.

I kiss Victoria until she pulls away and cries out, digging her nails into my shoulders. She's on her back, and I'm between her legs … we're in a living room full of people.

_She's not Bella. _

But if she wanted me home, she should have picked up. Fuck her. Fuck Bliss and her candy wrappers. Fuck her and her cold toes and soft snores and warm sleepy touches.

She can't have all of me. I won't let her fuck with my head like my mom used to with my dad.

We're not even allowed.

Yeah, fuck her for knocking on my bedroom door and sleeping in my bed when she isn't supposed to. Fuck her for doing it night after night. Fuck her for being beautiful and soft and heartfelt. Fuck her for caring about me. And fuck her for making me feel guilty about being what I am.

A monster.

Heartless.

Challenging.

I can't help that I'm emotionally stunted. I'm broken. It's just the way that it is. Vic, she's more like me. We're better together. There are no feelings when it comes to her. She's easy. Painless. There are no expectations or sweet moments. I fuck her and I'm done, and there are no lingering afterthoughts or twisted feelings of responsibility and love.

Love?

Love is so fucking corrupt.

Love is lying and tricking. Love is hard work. Love is suffocating and using. It's head-fucking and soul-ruining. It's apprehensive and back-stabbing. It's passionate. It's chilling. It's smile-giving, but neck-breaking. It's not worth it. It's so fucking worth it. It's everything I thought it was, and everything I thought it wasn't.

Love is guilty. Love is escaping. Love is sunny-side eggs and candy-corn. It's late night phone calls and stealing time. It's keeping calm. It's livid. Love is unresisting. Love is in the little girl with the yellow popsicle. Love is watching the fireworks in her eyes. Love is holding hands under the blankets and having something to look forward to. Love is belonging. Love is no longer belonging to yourself. Love is fighting a losing battle. Love is a secret. Love is untruth. Love is two years younger, but a million times older.

Love is at my house, ignoring my unease.

Love has ruined everything, but made it so much better.

Love is a blissful wonder.

Love is a strawberry-blonde, liar, tease-baby, princess-girl, torture. She has it all wrong. She should have picked up. If she cared, she would have. Love would have answered.

Love has the best of me.

Love is always supposed to understand.

Love is supposed to be effortless.

Love is supposed to be loyal.

Love is always supposed to answer.

_But Love is love's traitor._

_._

_._

_._

I'm in Petey's bedroom. I don't even remember leaving the couch. I'm on my back. The room is dark and hotter than the rest of the house.

I touch my chest and my face. I pull on the front of my hair. I manage to lift my head. My legs are hanging off the side of the bed. Victoria is pulling down my zipper. She's still in her tank top, but her pants are gone. I want to tell her to stop, but my voice won't work. I pat my pockets, looking for my phone.

Nothing from Bliss.

I call her.

She doesn't answer.

"I have to leave." I push Victoria away from me.

She laughs.

She isn't alone.

"Happy birthday, baby." Victoria whispers seductively, but crudely before kissing Mixie.

The room starts to spin.

I try to call Bella again. And again. And again.

Victoria is looking at me as her lips move with her friend's. Mixie kisses Victoria's neck. She touches her breasts. Victoria unbuttons my jeans, pulling them down just enough. She reaches in, wraps her cold hand around my dick, and pulls it out.

"Vic, stop," I don't say it loud enough.

Victoria's mouth is on me. I fall back and clench my teeth. I close my eyes and grip onto the blankets.

Victoria takes me deep—deeper—deepest.

My stomach turns.

I groan.

She thinks it's because it feels good.

"Stop. Stop. Victoria, stop." She does, but she has it all wrong.

"Too much?" She giggles.

Victoria is on the bed beside me. I lift my head in time to see Mixie cover my cock with her mouth. Victoria holds my wrists to the bed and kisses my mouth, hard.

Different images of Bella flash behind my eyelids: silly boots, dirty toes on the swing out front, Sleeping Beauty pink, and cuddled-warm-in-my-hoodie safe. I think about belly-buttons and late night candy binges. I hear the sound of her laughter and feel the softness of her skin—the tickle of her hair. I remember mud-sunk shoes and fireflies, cream soda and birthday pancakes that tasted like cardboard.

I ate them anyway.

I'm off the bed, shoving my dick back inside of my jeans and outside before emptying my stomach into the street.

I don't know how I manage to make it home, but I do. I leave the car in the front yard. I stumble up the stairs. I take a shower in my sister's bathroom and wash my dick before throwing up in the toilet again. I stare at myself in the mirror for a long fucking time, thinking to myself, _I am not this person._

But I am exactly this person.

I'm a let down. I'm not reliable. I'm a fuck up.

I brush my teeth and leave all of my clothes on the bathroom floor. I pass my sister's bedroom door with a heavy heart and head toward my own. I open up and it's dark. Disappointment feels worse than I thought it would. It's hot and cold, and massive, and it hurts. I'm about to leave, go back down the hall and rip Bella from my sister's bed, because I need her. I fucking need her. _Doesn't she get it? _Doesn't she know she is always expected to forgive me? I come this way, and I am this way, but if I have her, it's okay. We're a large fucking falsehood, but if we're together, it's okay. I'm the screw-up and she's the liar, and that's fine as long as we're together.

We have to be together, though. If we're not, we're nothing. We're meaningless. We're only bad people if these fuck-ups and lies are for nothing.

She isn't supposed to leave this room.

I'm about to unmake everything and go to her, and take her, and scream, "Y_ou are not allowed to abandon me!"_ but I hear her snore, and when I turn on the light, I see her sleep.

I'm on my knees, beside the bed. I'm so fucked up I can't see straight, but I can feel her skin, and I am calm.

"Wake up," I whisper. "Baby. Baby princess, wake up."

I kiss her neck. I kiss her lips. I kiss her hair. I kiss her fingers. I kiss her wrist and the inside of her elbow.

"Bliss, wake up." I pull the covers off of her body. She's sleepy-warm and smells just like she should: me.

I pull her shirt up and kiss her stomach. I dig my nails into her skin. "Wake up," I say, louder.

I slide down her black cotton shorts and drop them off the side of the bed. I kiss the inside of her knee. I kiss the inside of her thigh. I run the palms of my hands up the broadside of her body and bite her neck softly.

She smiles.

I roll onto my back and bring her with me. She lays her cheek on my chest and asks if I had a good time.

My stomach hurts again.

She kisses the spot where my throat meets my jaw bone. Bella sits up, straddling my lower stomach. She doesn't circle her hips, though. I don't want her to. I don't want her to be a thing like Victoria. Bella will never be the girl on her knees in front of white lines. She'll never have dilated eyes or a drug-dry mouth. She'll never be the girl in that dark room with her friend.

She'll always be this.

_Love is reassuring. _

"No. I missed you. I called." My eyes burn. I feel like fucking crying. This relief is overwhelming.

"I was sleeping," she whispers in the dark. "I'm sorry I got you upset."

"Shhh." I smile, rubbing my hands up and down her bare thighs.

We're quiet, and it's okay. I close my eyes while wishing for the morning to never come. I can be here, doing this, with her, forever.

"Edward?" Bella's palm is on my chest. "We only have a little while."

I don't know what she means. I open my eyes and she's pulling her white sleep-top over her head. She places it on the bed beside my body and covers her face before sighing and showing me herself.

Bella's long hair falls over her shoulder. Any nervousness she was showing a minute ago is completely gone.

_Love is brave. _

I rub slow, soft circles on her flat stomach with my thumbs. I study her chest, her face, they way she breathes. She is sobering and clarifying. I touch her pink lace bra. Bliss smiles.

"I thought we could try," she says softly.

I don't say a word. I sit up, leaving her on my lap. I kiss the top of her shoulder and hold her close. Baby places her arms around my neck, but she doesn't push her chest against mine or hug too tight. Baby is soft-spoken-flawless.

I like the way her skin feels brushed, pushed, pressed against mine. I rub my cheek along her arm and glide my lips up her neck until they hover over hers.

_Love is perfect. _

"Can we just stay like this?" I ask, kissing the corner of her mouth.

She smiles. "I just thought—"

"We will," I cut her off. "Just not today. I need this more,"

Bella tickles the nape of my neck with her warm fingers. "Be a gentleman, Edward," she says, calling me out on my shit—mocking me.

I laugh out loud and kiss her lips forcefully.

Bella plays with my hair and whispers against my skin. She laughs while we kiss and sighs when I breathe into her hair. She touches me until I fall asleep. She rubs me rested. She leads me to contentment. She promises me forever.

And I believe her.

Because love is a lot of things, but above all, _love is what we make it._

And we'll make this never ending.


	11. Wishing Well

**We do not own Twilight. We drop true love to the bottom of the ocean and make it wander blind. All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer, Mark, Tom and Travis, Shirley Manson and Regina Spektor. **

**Thank you guys for reading and for all the love you've shared. Small Note: Dusty was just named Fic of the Week at The Lemonade Stand. Thanks to all of the girls over there, and to everyone who voted.**

**Brutal baby is the bluest light across our words. Thank you, fifille-amour.**

**Blink 182 – Wishing Well:** _I went to a wishing well and sank to the ocean floor. Cut up by sharpened rocks and washed up along the shore, I reached for a shooting star. It burned a hole through my hand, made its way through my heart and had fun in the promised land…_

**Chapter Ten – Bella **

Y'know when you're stressing over something you can't even control, how your mind just circles back to it, and back to it?

And back to it?

How, even if you can focus on other things for a few minutes, the second your awareness has the chance it goes right back to the stress-thought? Every song you hear, everything you see on TV, anything someone says, it automatically reminds you of your worry. It's all connected, like the world is trying to tell you something.

That's what loving Edward is like. That's what this feeling is. Loving Edward is everything else in your whole life being consumed and reduced to fever. Love for him doesn't listen to logic or practicality, or consequence.

It's a lot like him in that way, our love. It wants what it wants when it wants it. And when it wants, it needs it.

I turn onto my side, avoiding the middle of Edward's bed. I curl up on his side instead.

I don't even know where he is. He was in in his room asleep when Ally and I left with Leah this afternoon, but he was gone when I got down here a few minutes ago. It's almost one in the morning now. I haven't texted him. He'd reply, but it wouldn't bring him home. So it's hard to see a point in doing so.

I close my eyes and breathe out through my nose. I try to sleep, but circle back to my stress-thought instead.

He's grounded. It obviously matters a lot.

Edward went to Petey's last night after both of his parents told him not to. He put things in his body he shouldn't have, and he parked his birthday gift on the front lawn when he finally came home.

I know he's bad news. He keeps the details from me, but I'm not an idiot. I'm not blind or deaf, and I'm not-not paying attention. I love Edward, but I do so knowingly. I know the most important parts.

This is permanent. This is forever and I know it. I can already feel the hold our love has on the rest of my entire life.

It's colossal feeling. Astronomical and boundless. And binding. And stupid.

_This is so, so stupid._

This isn't normal.

Alice and Jasper are normal. My parents are normal. Even Carlisle and Esme are normal.

This—lying here all alone while only one person in the world knows where I am, and that person is out, doing who knows what with I don't even want to know who—this is not normal.

I should go back to Ally's bed. I know I should. I should be smart. I know we can't have this.

I know.

But knowing doesn't make leaving this bed possible, because I don't really want to. I want to be here when he gets back. A handful of stolen secret hours before the sun comes up every few days are all we get to ourselves. They mean more to me than I can even begin to wrap my head around.

I know it's incautious to stay, to keep staying. I know we risk losing each other, but not just that, I chance losing my friendship with Alice, too, with his whole family. I know that being half of this huge, all-consuming fever-secret isn't smart.

Or fair.

_I know._

But ... I love how I feel when I'm with Edward. I'm sorry it's unfair to everyone else in our lives, but I don't want to be smart. He's right for me. He was made for me. I want his whispers and his wake-up kisses. I want him under these blankets, on top of me, touching me with his nose, his cheeks, his chin, touching my bare skin with his lips. I am in ridiculous love with how he loves my skin.

I blink my eyes open and closed again, nestling my face into soft gray cotton.

I love him. It's tremendous, the love I feel inside myself for him. It's exceptional and intimidatingly absolute, but combined with the vanilla smoke smell of him around me, it's also all-over-calming. It lulls my heart and curves my tired smile when I curl deeper down into his blankets and flip his pillow to the cool side. Love comforts and eases, and holds me safe in my sleep while I wait for its maker to come back to me.

I drift.

He's the feel of home when he wraps around me sometime later.

He's boy-soap-clean and so warm, pulling me close. He kisses the side of my mouth, and I wake to the hint-taste of blood.

"Edward—"

"Shhh, it's okay." He brings the covers up around us, over our heads. I feel his smile. The top left of his lip is cut. His kisses are soft, soft, soft.

"What happened?" I ask as quiet, quiet, quietly as I can.

Edward kisses breathless laughter down my cheek. "I was fighting for your honor."

I can hear his grin as he brushes his nose back and forth under my chin. I know better. My honor doesn't need defending. My innocence isn't a question. Avoidance like this is Edward's way of telling me he's not going to tell me anything at all.

"Let make you an ice pack," I say, bringing his right hand to my lips, gently kissing knuckles I know I'll find rough with cuts and hot with hurt.

"No." He shakes his head. He holds me close instead, breathing me in, and I can feel his strength. I feel what he could do if he wanted to, how much he could hurt another person if that was his intention. Edward is capable of total destruction, but his movements are thoughtful and cautious feeling as he slides his hands under my sleep shirt. He's insistent, but he's so attentive.

"You're so fucking soft, sleepy girl." He nudges my top slowly higher. "Let me take this off you?"

I nod, lost in loving, and move to help him pull my shirt off me. His sheets are smooth on my skin and his v-neck is thin between my stomach and his. We're on our sides and he has his left arm under and around me. He brushes his right fingers and palm up my naked side, giving me his lightest touches. I tilt, and he leans, and we kiss.

Violence lingers on his top lip. It doesn't let me forget we're from, and we live in, two totally different worlds.

_And no matter what I do, he won't let me into his. And he keeps pushing further and further away from mine._

I open my lips a little, kissing his so carefully. "You shouldn't fight," I whisper to him under the blankets.

It's dark, but I know Edward grins again. It starts mine. He knows, just like I know. He runs his thumb along the bottom of my bra, over my ribs. "You shouldn't let me take your shirt off," he counters, just touching his lips to mine, opening my smile with his.

I know he's right.

I know without a single shadow of a doubt.

But it feels good, so we do what we do.

I close my eyes and hold on around his neck when he takes my mouth under his. I yield to him. I feel my whole body roll like a ribbon under the weight of his kiss.

He's possessive. And irrefutable. So much so that what _we shouldn't _doesn't matter. Just this. Just me and him, here, like this.

He kisses my collarbones and over my bra straps. I push the blankets down to breathe better. He kisses the top of my chest, and I try to pull his shirt off, but he doesn't let me. So I hold to the back of his neck instead, loving the feel of his almost dry hair between all my fingers as he arches my body with his hand under my back.

How _unfair_ and _abnormal_ and _not right _everything is burns up between us. Edward _is_ my fever. Our skin on skin contact makes me shiver-shake while it nurtures his need. I love the burn, and I can feel him loving me. He opens his mouth over the left side of my chest, making me blink and breathe deeper to keep from being swallowed whole. I hold him tighter.

He brushes his lips over where my heart is pounding. It makes me feel insane.

"I miss you so much when you're gone," I whisper, dreamy-dizzy under his touch, truth bubbling uncontrollably up and right out of me. "I miss you everywhere."

Edward opens his mouth wider, dragging his lips along my skin. His breath is burning hot. "I know," he whispers back, right over my heart.

It beats harder for him.

I tickle-tingle for him.

I lift my back to bring my chest closer to his hovering mouth and he touches his teeth to me. Just barely. He drags them lightly over my chest, allowing me to feel how hard they are compared to his lips and palms. I look down, and even though it's dark, I can see my skin turn white and then pink as he glides his teeth over my collarbones. I press my lips together so tightly to keep quiet. The precious spot between my legs, where he lies all his weight, aches. A small, needy cry slips. I can't even help it.

Edward pushes his hands harder into my back, gripping and arching me possessively. He drags his teeth and lips lower, back and forth over my heart, leaving more white-pink lines over where I swear I can see it beating.

I swallow my gasp. I'm not quiet. Edward kisses me soft.

"You shouldn't go places I can't," I tell him in sleepy-secretness, spinning warm inside, shaking, burning delirious under his worshipful sort of loving. "It isn't good for either one of us."

He lifts his head and covers my lightly marked chest with his hand. He holds my heart and brushes his thumb over its beat.

"I know, baby," he tells me, concession softening his already so quiet voice. "I know."

.

.

.

"Mom, where are my earrings? The little pearl-drop ones?"

"They're in the bathroom with your necklace, Bliss." Mom peeks into my room on the way to hers with a reassuring calm-down smile.

I'm calm. I am. I just want to wear this very specific outfit. I got it for the first day of high school, and that day is finally here.

"Thanks." I smile back, pulling my sun dress from the closet.

I'm a little nervous because it's a new place that I've never been, but Ally and everyone will be there. So that calms most of my nerves. The ones it doesn't calm, can't be.

Being back in the same school as Edward means having to see things I'd rather not. Namely, Victoria. I stayed with the Cullens a lot this summer, and she hasn't been back to their house since Edward swore she wouldn't, but I'm not misled. I know she's there when he goes out. I know she still gets parts of him that I don't. I know she gets to see, touch, and taste what I only sometimes get to feel, just for a little bit…

I know.

But what am I supposed to do? What can I do?

I can't change what I know, and I can't stop Edward from doing anything. I can't avoid school just because it's one of the places our worlds overlap.

So I slip into my white eyelet sun dress and pull my thin pink shrug over my shoulders. I tie the matching pink bows of my espadrilles and comb my fingers through my still warm curls. I brush on the tiniest bit of mascara and dust blush across my cheeks. I clasp my pearls on and smile at my reflection.

I feel pretty. I feel sexy in my small curves. I feel secretly confident under hidden lace. I feel prepared.

I wish I could ride with Alice this morning, in Edward's back seat, but my parents would never allow it. Asking alone would raise issues I'm not ready to bring up. Maybe next year. _Maybe..._

Probably not.

I shake off what I want and can't have, and make my way downstairs. Mom's waiting with French toast and a white rose. Dad comes in as we're finishing breakfast and kisses her head first, then mine.

Mom hugs me. "Have such a good first day, baby."

I kiss her cheek and tuck the rose into the loops on the front of my backpack. "Thanks, Mom."

Happy tears or not, I'm thankful she doesn't cry.

I'll see her this afternoon when she picks me up, but since Dad's shifts have changed, I'm going to be riding with him in the mornings now. It's kind of nice. It's time I never got to spend with him before.

I know from going over my schedule more times than I can count, the warning bell is at 8:05, the second bell is at 8:10, and first hour starts at 8:15. Dad turns in front of Forks High at 7:52 and gives me a kind smile.

"You're strong, Bella," he says. "But I'm always here for you, for anything."

I know. Dad would fight to the ends of the earth for me.

I know.

_But I just want him to let me go, just a little bit. Is riding to school with my friends really too much to ask?_

"I know," I smile confidently back at him.

There are a few groups of kids waiting outside the doors, but no one I really recognize. Shades on, I walk around the building. I stand in a sunshiny spot on the sidewalk to wait for Ally in the back parking lot. She texts me at 7:59.

**_We're almost there. Don't go in without me!_**

_Not a chance._

I soak up the rare late-summer sun for a few more minutes before I spy the old Volvo. Alice gets out of the front passenger seat wearing jeans with holey frayed knees and two tank tops, black over white. Her long blonde hair is down, and I can see her deep-sweet candy apple red lips all the way across the lot. Her sunglasses are ginormous.

"Nice dress, princess girl." She laughs as she gets closer. I tap-heel-tap across the concrete to meet her halfway, and hug her when we do. Her brother still hasn't gotten out of the car.

"I've got one like it just for you." I smile.

"Yeah fucking right." She rolls her crystal clear blues. I can't see them behind her sunnies, but I know.

Across the lot, the driver's side door opens. Edward gets out wearing a gray and black flannel with black jeans. I see he's got sunglasses on, too.

Ally hooks her arm through my elbow, and we turn to head inside.

I don't know if Edward looks. I know he's not supposed to, but I hope he does. He loves my pinks and whites. I wore this stupid dress for him.

.

.

.

First hour is easy-wonderful because I have it with Alice. We're wordless for eighty-five minutes, but we've perfected talking with our eyes. Economics is boring, but sitting next to Alice never is.

Third hour, because we run on an odd day/even day schedule, is nice, too, because, even though it's biology, Garrett smiles when I walk in. He says "Hey," and that's it, but it's more than enough. It's a comfort to know he'll be here to cut things open and dissect them. He won't pressure me to help, or make fun of me when I don't want to. I don't think I could pick a better person to share a lab table with.

When the bell rings, we head out into the hallway together, walking to lunch beside Ally and Jasper.

The halls stay pretty crowded between bells. I pay attention to my footing and my surroundings, but I look around, too. Every time I'm back in the hallway, I not really, but kind of, sort of, look for Edward. I haven't seen or heard from him since the parking lot this morning, though. And I know it shouldn't matter.

I know we wouldn't really look at each other.

I know we probably wouldn't say anything.

I know who we have to be here, but when I scan the teenagers around me, I can't help looking for him. Even if we can't actually acknowledge one another, Edward is in my heart. I feel him there. I can't not notice his physical absence.

We pass Ben on our way into the cafeteria. He's smiling high and talking low to a group of giggling girls. He doesn't look up as I walk by, and his two best friends aren't with him.

Alice gets nachos from the snack bar. She doesn't miss a second in our conversation when Jasper takes one. Claire sits down next to Garrett, who's across from me. We both have oranges and white milk.

He and Claire don't share food.

Nobody steals my milk.

After lunch, they all head to history together, and I have to go to the third floor all by myself for French. The moment they turn down the hall and I start to climb the stairs, I feel anxiousness in my stomach. I don't want to go by myself. I want to go with my friends.

_I don't know what I was thinking._

I feel like I'm back in my slippery Jellies and French class is my banana popsicle.

_Bad decisions._

With every step up, I regret my foreign language choice a little more.

I knew when I enrolled that everyone takes Spanish. I knew it when Ally said "Que pasa with that? Who takes French?" when we compared schedules. I know there will probably be all of five people in the whole class and the chances of me knowing any of them are slim to zero.

I know.

_But French just sounds so pretty..._

Blowing my half-hearted regret out, I hug my binder closer to my chest and turn the corner into room 314. What I see confuses and completely shocks me.

_I wish I had my fucking snow boots._

_I wish I had them on so I could take them off and throw them at her perfect fucking face._

"Hey, holy shit—hi, little sister!" Victoria waves from the back off the room. She's sitting next to a freshman, Jess, who doesn't look at me, but Victoria smiles and makes direct eye contact.

Every cell in my body repels her. Even from halfway across the room, I can feel it. My blood beats faster and my spine straightens. The baby-fine hair on the back of my neck stands up.

I abhor her.

She's my enemy, plain and simple. My body knows it.

And I know we share this school, but she's not supposed to be _here_.

"Hi," I offer with a slightly tight lipped politeness, looking around at the six or so other students. "I thought this was a ninth grade class."

"It is. I took Spanish last year. I wanted to switch." She tucks straight strands of black behind her triple pierced ears.

I push scratch marks and kisses, and every awful, stupid, sick fucking touch I've ever seen her lay on Edward out of my mind. I swallow. My stomach feels sick.

This is what seeing her does to me. I'm genuinely, truly repulsed.

"Why?" I ask, forcing detachment into my tone.

Victoria shrugs, batting her blue-glittered lash-lids slow and showy, like she's caught up in some kind of romance. "French is the language of love, right?" She sighs dreamily. "L'amour."

She's a nightmare.

"C'mon, come sit with us," she insists, taking her backpack out of the seat on her other side.

I would rather chew glass.

"Isabella belle-fille," some sweet voice behind me speaks up, saving me without even knowing it.

I turn to find Rosalie Lillian, self-proclaimed weirdo extraordinaire, in her purple tights and brown jumper dress. She's wearing white Keds and tortoise shell glasses, and clutching a Lisa Frank folder with a big sticker that says Ron Paul across it. She looks at me with huge hopeful hazel eyes. "Parlez-vouch Francaise?"

I wonder if she can see the grateful relief in mine. I don't really know Rose, but I've never been happier at the prospect of getting to.

"Un petit peu," I smile and hold my thumb half an inch from my finger to show _just a little bit_. She smiles back, all silent giggles and total sincerity. I glance my goodbye to Victoria and sit down a few seats over, next to my new friend.

Victoria doesn't say anything else to me, which makes her existence easier to ignore, but when the bell rings, I'm slammed with it all over again. Her phone is in her hand as she walks out into the hall.

In truth, I know I have no idea who she's texting or why she's grinning so high, but I hate it.

"Later, little sis." She sparkle smiles, sure to make eye contact again.

I don't want to look into her eyes, but I do. I refuse to let her intimidate me, and since I have nothing civil to say back, I just nod.

It's not enough that she's in Edward's world. Now she's in mine too, and I hate it. I'll have to see her every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the rest of the semester. Maybe longer if she sticks with the French program.

I'm so discontented with the whole idea, it takes me four tries to get my locker popped. I rush into my last class of the day just seconds after the bell rings.  
><em><br>Nothing like being two seconds too late for subtlety, just in time to have everyone in the room look at you like you're nuts._

Leah's in the back, smiling sympathetically, but the seats around her are all taken. I have to sit in the very front row, dead center.

As if that's not enough, once I take my seat, I realize I grabbed the wrong book in my hurry after finally getting my locker to open. This is literature class, not economics. _Awesome._

I proceed only to drop my pen five minutes later and get blue ink on my white skirt. My dress is ruined. _Double awesome._

I have to take a lot of notes since I don't have my book, but at least the day is nearly over. It took such a turn after lunch, and I'm just ready to get home, get out of this stupid, now ink-streaked dress and relax. I feel like I need to refresh my outlook in order to do this again tomorrow.

As I'm heading back to my locker to pack up after the bell, Petey messes my hair up as he walks by with a tall, skinny boy I don't recognize. While I'm trying to fix it with my free hand, the upperclassman in front of me stops in his tracks. It halts hallway traffic altogether, and I breathe out slowly, so ready to just be done.

In order to avoid his friend's stupid-playful fist, the stopped-still boy in front of me steps backward. His boot heel scrapes my toes and I want to freaking cry.

Pressing my lips together hard and closing my eyes, I breathe another slow-steady breath out though my nose. "Sorry," the boy mumbles, pausing his cursing at his friend to barely glance over his shoulder.

I shake my head dismissively. I don't even look up. "It's fine."

My locker sticks on the first try.

And the second.

I hit it with the heel of my hand.

On my third try, I realize I'm using last year's combination. When I turn the right numbers around, the door comes right open.

With a long exhale, I trade and gather the right books to leave with, and scan the emptying hallway for Alice. When I don't see or hear her, I turn back to my locker just to check that I have everything.

I don't.

On the floor of my metal book closet, folded unevenly, is a piece of notebook paper with torn spiral edges. Secretly, the nerves in my stomach flip out.

I look around before bending carefully in my dress, knees together, and pick the paper up. I glance around one more time before I unfold it.

I know it probably shouldn't make everything all better.

But it does.

No name is signed to the note, but one doesn't need to be. I recognize the sharp script-scratch from secret Christmas and birthday gifts with _Isabella Bliss _written on them.

Biting my lip to keep from smiling entirely too obviously, I stare down at the words written only and totally for me.

_You look good enough to eat, princess pie._

I look for a few seconds, just long enough to feel the nerve-knots in my stomach grow into warm tingles before I refold the torn paper and tuck it into my backpack. My want to get home and under my covers. I can't wait to be baseball hoodie safe to take the note back out, and read it over, and over, and over again.

.

.

.

The longer I'm in high school, the more I feel like we're all right back in junior high.

The boys are just as obnoxious, and Ally and I are the little sisters again. The treatment is the same. The difference is the sight and the sound.

All of the boys are filling out. Petey, Ben and Edward all look taller and broader-shouldered by the day. Their hands look stronger and their laughs sound deeper. They're not that far ahead of Ally or me, but it feels like miles sometimes.

It's weird watching Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber interact with girls. It's obvious that Pete and Kim are a couple. She wears his flat-billed black hat, and he flips up the back of her cheer skirt sometimes. I've seen them make eyes at each other when they thought no one was looking. Everybody knows they're only each other's, but they don't hold hands. Nothing so super official.

However, Ben and Chelsea do. Or Ben and Senna. Or Ben and Angela. Last week, Ben had his arms around little Tanya _and _her best friend Irina—one on either side of himself—and neither one of them seemed to mind. They beamed like they just loved it. Ben is a player.

And Edward is still their hotheaded leader. He stands the tallest, and he stands alone. He wouldn't be caught dead with his arm around a girl or with a smaller-softer hand in his. Not in the hallways. Not where everyone can see.

But that in no way means he isn't every bit as much of a dog as Ben is. Or even more attached to one girl than Petey is. Edward gets the whole cake, the ice-cream, and gets to eat it all, too.

I know this.

I'm sitting in the second floor girls' restroom right now, knowing it for a fact and it's forcing the most terrible kind of torture on my heart.

_"I couldn't even walk Monday morning. I mean, I told my mom it was cramps or whatever, and she let me stay home, but God. Like... Oh, my God—"_

_"I thought he was with Victoria?"_

I can hear Bree, the one who couldn't walk, snort-scoff. Behind my own screwed-shut eyes, I can picture her rolling hers.

_"Well, apparently Victoria isn't doing it for him."_

I can hear her cocky smirk-smile. I can hear her pride at being chosen to be used, and I don't have any idea what I'm supposed to think. I feel stuck and mangled, and broken-hurt. I feel angry enough to put my fist through the stall-wall, and I feel jealousy that makes me want to curl in a hole and disappear. I'm so ashamed I feel sick, feeling the jealousy I do.

_"Yeah, and she's fucking broken in. She probably can't even feel Edward when they do it."_

It hurts.

It hurts all over. My whole world hurts, and I want them to leave so I can be sick.

Bree laughs. I cover my mouth with both hands to keep from crying out loud.

_"I don't know how anybody couldn't. Even Victoria." _Bree drags from her cigarette. "_Cullen's got something crazy pent up inside him."_

_"Bree!"_

Her friend mock-chastises her. They laugh like they should stop talking, but they don't.

_"What?" _Her cigarette smoke wrapped innocence sounds exactly like what it is: cheap and fake._ "It's not like I told you how big his dick is. I'm just saying." _Bree pauses. She makes a shiver sound like she just stepped off a roller coaster in the middle of December. She shudders like her backbone's been dipped in Mentholatum. Like whatever's on her mind is the most intensely earth-shaking thing ever.

Under the stall door, across the bathroom floor, Bree shifts her feet and stretches her legs a little.

"_Like, I still feel him…"_

This can't be real.

I blink my eyes open, hoping so hard none of this is real, that I'll see my ceiling.

I don't.

I squeeze my eyes shut again.

I want to break through the door and tear at her. I want to shrink into nothingness and disappear. I want to find Edward and scream, and cry at the top of my lungs, because how can he not know? How can he not understand how horrible this is for me?

Tears slip down my cheeks and collect along my hands. I want to shake my head and make it all not true. I want to not believe a single word of it.

But I don't do anything. I lean against the cream-white stall wall because my legs are too weak to support my own weight. I am frozen silent-still.

Bree and her friend laugh. Her friend changes the subject. _"Hey, are you going to Dim's on Friday?"_

Bree blows smoke_. "I dunno, maybe."_

_"Edward might be there."_

Bree giggles. I gag behind my hands.

_"Exactly."_

I feel myself shaking my head and sliding down. I hear their feet and their laughs, and the door open and close. I know the second I'm alone.

I've slid all the way down to the floor, next to the toilet. I lean over the bowl and uncover my mouth, and cry. And cry, so hard I hear my cries echo off the tiles. I wipe the tears away and they burn my hands, and more just roll down to take their place.

I feel like getting sick, but nothing comes up. I sit on the floor and close my eyes, and focus on my breathing. I work on controlling my tears.

After the first time I heard Victoria and Jess talking about Edward in the restroom a few weeks ago, I made a specific point to not use the school bathrooms anymore. But Alice and I had huge cappuccinos from the snack bar for lunch; I just couldn't hold it today. And as I was getting ready to open the door and wash my hands just now, in Bree and her friend giggled and sparked their smokes.

_I don't care how badly I have to go, I'll hold it forever next time._

Logically, I know that maybe not everything I hear in these bathrooms is true. I know girls talk and some girls embellish, and a lot of girls lie. So, I know there's a _chance _that maybe, just maybe, all of this, or at least some of it is made up, but the smarter half of me dreads its reality so much I feel nauseous down to my bones.

_Victoria isn't enough? Doing it with one other girl isn't enough?_

_God, what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to deal with that? With living like this? What do I have to do? _

Breathing out through pursed lips, I brace my hands on my knees and stand up slowly. My legs shake, but I force them to work. I cannot and will not stay on this floor. I'm better than this. I'm better than them_. I have to be better than them._

Without looking at my reflection, I set my binder and notebook on the counter and wash my face. I touch my water-cold fingers to the back of my neck to calm my anxiety. I turn my back to the mirror and shake my hands out. I pull my hair over my shoulder and comb through it with my fingers.

I concentrate on my breathing and cling to hope. I hope so hard as I inhale that Bree Tanner is an attention seeking liar and that I never hear her name leave Kim's lips in the same sentence as Edward's, because that's when I'll really know. If Kim tells Alice over nachos and chocolate chip cookies, it's probably pretty close to truth.

Kim is jealous of Alice and Petey's friendship, and she runs her mouth to get under Ally's skin. The thing is, though, who or what Edward does doesn't really bother my best friend. It grosses her out, but she can forget about it in a matter of minutes.

I'm the one it sticks with.

I'm the one who carries Kim's disgustingly true facts around with me, inside me, so scared I'll never be able to forget them. I'm the one who feels sick and loses sleep over it, not Ally. But I can't make Kim quit. And nothing is going to stop Edward.

I know this.

_I know all of this._

I exhale slow, slow, slowly. I open my eyes and look up, and press my hands together over my chest.

I also know the sounds Edward's heart makes.

I know what his voice sounds like wrapped around _I love you._

I know what the word _forever _feels like right over my heart.

I know that his eyes are brightest blue when they're barely open in the too-early-to-separate-ourselves morning, and I know the taste of the soft, soft, softest kisses.

I know carefulness is the feel of the strongest hands going slow and touching gentle. I know respect is the sound of him asking please and saying thank you, and never pushing or pressuring me, even though I'm certain he wants to. I know the feel of permanent yearning and eternal attachment.  
>I know prudence and awe, and adoring love that no one else in his life even knows Edward is capable of.<p>

With a glance back to the mirror, I roll on a thin shine of lip gloss and smooth-clean under my eyes. They're still little red, but nothing I can't blame on allergies. I take another breath in and square my shoulders back. I chin-up and breathe out, and grab my notebooks.

The answer is to keep moving. The trick is to keep breathing.

I know Edward. Like nobody else, I know him. Just like he knows me. I don't know what to do, but I'll learn. I'll figure out how to deal, because I have to ... because even though it hurts, I can't imagine giving this up. He's so much to me. He's everything.

Exhaling steadily, I open the bathroom door and leave my helplessness behind. I trade it for knowledge, because _I know _we're a living, breathing, aching, love-twisting contradiction.

We're meant to be and can't even be.

We're impossibly necessary.

We're irreconcilably perfect.

We're absurd.

We're made for heaven, but we're doomed, and we can't even stop. We're a single-heart-beating discrepancy, but I know that regardless of what I hear, or how I feel, there is no other way. There's nothing else. No matter how it hurts, this is us, and I need us just to breathe. We both do.

We can't even begin to help ourselves when it comes to each other, as much as both of us should.

We're inevitable.


	12. What Is And What Should Never Be

**We do not own Twilight. We can barely even count. All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer, Mike D, MCA and Ad-Rock, Led Zeppelin, Etta James, Lou Reed and Bishop.**

**TeamBella is my partner in this. **

**Lovelybrutal is our beta. babyblue, I love you more than jinx texts.**

**Led Zeppelin - What is and What Should Never Be: **_And if I say to you tomorrow, take my hand, child, come with me, it's to a castle I will take you. Where what's to be, they say will be... And if you say to me tomorrow, oh what fun it all would be, then what's to stop us, pretty baby? But what is and what should never be? _

**Chapter Eleven - B **

It's the middle of January when my mom pulls into the Cullens' driveway and I spy Ally waiting for me on the porch swing. She's bundled up under an oversized lumberjack hat with floppy-furry ears over her long blonde hair, hiding the bottom half of her face behind fuzzy black mittens. When she moves them to wave, she shows off the biggest-ever smile.

Alice and Jasper almost had sex last night. She texted me at two-thirty this morning while he was in the bathroom.

"Oh my God, B." She grins, standing and clapping her mittens together as I climb the few porch steps. "Oh my shit, c'mon!" She takes my bag from me and practically drags me inside.

I laugh, barely in the door and not moving near fast enough for her liking. She kicks her Chucks off and taps her foot impatiently as I step out of my boots.

"Morning, Bliss." Esme yawns happily from the kitchen, still in her silky white robe. The house is warm all around me, and I can smell coffee brewing. She's got a can of biscuits in her hand, and her hair is a beautiful morning mess.

I love it here. All the time, I love this place so much.

Alice drops my bag and her winter wear next to it, leaving her hat on. Esme ties her robe over her nightgown and pulls a mug from the cabinet. "You guys want some breakfast?"

"Not right now, Mom!" Ally grabs my hand the second I get my own coat hung on the rack. "C'mon, c'mon!" She laughs and tugs me along.

Laughing too, I follow her sock-steps with my own. "In a little bit," I tell Esme as we pass the kitchen. Crazy news or not, I'm not about to miss out on a Saturday morning breakfast.

In my dark, skin tight skinnies, I keep up just a half a step behind my over-excited best friend in her faded light hip-huggers. I can't help but grin ear to ear at her giddiness. She hasn't been so pumped about anything since she landed her first inward heelflip a few months ago. Seeing her tickled boy-crazy is a trip.

"I can't even, oh my gosh, just wait—" She stops abruptly when we turn the corner, almost running right into her brother at the bottom of the stairs. "Shit, move it, Dusty!"

Edward laughs, bare foot in his black sleep sweats. His tired smile and barely open eyes wake my butterflies up. Alice doesn't give me a chance to linger. She takes the steps superfast, her excitement unconquerable. "C'mon, Bliss!"

I follow, barely catching Edward's sleepy blues for half a second before we turn in opposite directions. A short, shared glance is all that's possible. Even more than we're allowed. And not even close to enough.

"I can't believe it." Alice laughs, leading me up to her room. "You won't even believe it, Bliss. Not in a million years."

She turns her stereo on, Intergalactic up, and closes her door behind me. Waving her hands around like a complete girly-girl, she giggles without a bit of sound. It makes me wave my hands around like a crazy person, too. I maybe jump up and down. Maybe so does she.

"Tell me! Tell me everything! What happened?" I whisper-squeal.

Alice grins from ear to ear and pulls her black v-neck to the side. The top of her shoulder is covered with purple-pink hickies. My eyes open wider, and I pull her shirt to get a better look. Edward's pink-white teeth marks come to mind, but there are none of those here. These are like deep pink kiss-blossoms made only with lips and tongue and love.

"That's not even the half of it." Her blue eyes light up crazy bright. "Not. Even. Half." She sits down on her bed and closes her eyes, bending her legs criss-cross applesauce. Relaxing her hands on her knees, she exhales slowly like she's meditating.

I giggle and sit down just the same across from her. "So? C'mon, tell me! What happened? Did you see his...?"

She shakes her head, but her eyes sparkle-shine. She blushes. Alice actually blushes.

"No. Well, no. Not really," she says, shimmer-smiling. "I felt it, though. He let me feel it."

_Holy. Crazy._

_I've never. I can't even imagine._

"Just through his jeans," she clarifies, tucking some blonde behind her left ear, playing with her earrings. "He wouldn't let me undo them..."

She sounds disappointed, even though her face says everything but. "I kind of, sort of let him undo mine, though."

_Oh. My. _

Ally covers her face with both hands and blush-giggles like I've never seen. She blows out a breath that makes her bangs fly up to the right. She leans, and I lean, too, so that we're practically nose to nose. And even though the music is up and it's obvious nobody can hear anything she says but me, she whispers so, so, so quietly.

"I had a fucking orgasm, Bliss."

My eyes go from wide to insane-wide. Alice's do, too. The sky blue light around her pupils is almost blinding-beautiful.

My mouth drops open. I can't even process the information she just laid on me. I sit back, covering my gaping mouth, wondering through my fingers. "Oh my gosh... Is it... Are you sure...?"

"Oh—" She stops me, holding her hand up and squaring her shoulders. She puts her other hand over her heart, pledge of allegiance style. "I am one hundred percent fucking sure. It's like... Oh, my God, it's like..."

She flexes her fingers on the hand between us. "It's like..."

I laugh, because this is too good, too funny, too amazing.

"It's like..." She starts again and closes her blinding blues, scrunching her forehead up. "It's like... No, it's like Christmas. It's like all the lights and warm cookies, and snowflakes on your eyelashes, and hot-hot-chocolate, and so many surprise presents, and that feeling when you first get home from the cold outside, and love, all around, everywhere..." She's talking fast and I'm following her as best as I can. I try not to think of Edward, but I feel like I know enough to understand what she's talking about. I feel like I might know, but then she pauses.

Alice exhales the happiest, most relaxed sounding sigh ever, and I know in this moment that I have no idea.

"It's like that. Like Christmas explodes through every single part of your whole entire body," she tells me. "It's like Christmastime with Fourth of July fireworks, on a tipsy birthday-candy-rush ... for every part of your body."

My comprehension, nor my imagination can follow her there. I want to. I wish I could. I think back to the first night Edward kissed me, the way he pushed between my legs and made me feel like I was on fire in the most wonderful way. I feel like I could know, like I can imagine, maybe...

"Ally-pally." I breathe out, my mind exasperated at just the thought of something so entirely affecting.

"Blissy-sissy." She breathes back. "Seriously. Holy fuck. Seriously. Get a boyfriend so you can see what I mean!"

I laugh, more nervous than anything at the turn in conversation.

"C'mon, don't you want to?" She nudges my knee playfully. "Don't you want to kiss a boy? You're so pretty, pretty, pretty, Bliss. What are you waiting for?"

It suddenly seems amazingly lucky we've avoided this conversation as long as we have.

Still smiling, I shrug. What am I supposed to say? I can't tell her the boy I do kiss is making me wait because he thinks I'm too little. I can't tell her that boy is her brother.

My hopped-up-on-first-orgasm-endorphins best friend giggles, guiding my attention back.

"Garrett would, you know."

My cognition stumbles at the unexpected mention of our totally platonic friend. "What?"

Ally rolls her eyes. "He can give you Christmas explosions. You _know_ he would."

I duck-lip shush her. "Pffffft, no way. Garrett's with Claire, and..."

_What do I say? Why aren't I doing and being all these things that are totally natural and make perfect sense?_

_It's not that I don't want Christmas explosions. I don't have anything against Garrett. He's nice. Boys are nice to me. But to do _that_ with him or anyone else..._

I could never.

I don't want to. And even if I did ... I'm Edward's. I could never with another.

I start again. "Maybe I'm..."

_Think, Bliss. _

"What?" Alice laughs, still bubbling with delight. She moves her arms and neck like a robot dancer to the Beastie Boys' beats.

I intergalactic planetary-dance my arms too and mechanical-wiggle my fingers with hers, trying to think, think, think of a cover-excuse. "Maybe I'm..."

Ally laughs silly. I am _exactly_ who I am.

"Maybe I'm saving it." I smile shyly higher as I say the words. "Myself, I mean. Maybe I'm saving myself."

"Awwwww." Alice laughs. "Isn't that sweet?" She snorts and laughs harder. I do, too. I can't help it. Her laugh is impossibly contagious. We crack up until we're up on our knees bouncing.

"Prude," she teases. "Innocent little Isabella Bliss. Silly little virgin girl."

"Hey!" I laughingly defend. This can work. This works. This is who I am. Who I have to be. And I really am saving myself.

Kind of. Sort of.

Edward's making me save myself.

"You're still technically a virgin, too," I remind her.

"True." She points her finger at me in mock seriousness. "True, but that's okay. Not for long. Don't you worry, shy sissy girl," she says, generosity and matter-of-factness in her tone. "I'll let you live vicariously through my awesome love life."

She bounces higher on her bed. I do, too. We dance-dance and silly-grin giggle to the music and the love she's bursting, and fall on our backs together in the pause between songs. Body Movin starts and Alice holds my hand between our sides. She covers her goofy gladness with her other hand and sighs like total contentment.

I lean my head on her shoulder and blow strands of blonde flyaways away from my nose. I listen to my heart beating like the rush of her breathing. She smells like sleeping in, vanilla, and coconut lime shampoo, and she sounds like a sweet dream.

Alice is in love.

Alice is going to have sex. And soon.

"Are you nervous?" I ask after a few seconds.

Ally shrugs, pressing our palms together. "Yes. No. No, I'm not."

"But you said yes at first," I point out.

She plays with my fingertips. "I mean, I was. I guess I am, because what if it hurts or whatever. But..."

"But?"

"It's Jasper," she says, like it answers everything, like it explains everything. When I don't say anything for a few seconds, she continues, sort of thinking out loud, "It's like he cares about me more than he cares about himself. Like, he'd do anything and everything for me. Love is like that, y'know?"

I nod. I want to tell her I know. I want to know that, too.

But I don't.

And it makes the muscle in my chest pinch with hurt, because I should. I know enough to know that I _should_ know that feeling.

"I'm not nervous because it's him, and I know he loves me the same way I love him. I don't know. Maybe that's dumb. I just feel it," she tells me. "We match."

The pinch in my heart pulls. I swallow and play with her knuckles while she thumbs over my nail beds. I nod again, like I understand.

"Don't worry," she says a second time. "You go ahead and save your virtue, princess Bliss. When you find the right frog for the job, you'll know."

Her wording makes me smile, and the pinch in my heart stings a little less. And in the next second, it goes from a pinch to a different feeling altogether.

"Edward!" Esme calls a floor below us. "Get the girls and come have breakfast."

Alice and I chuckle together, leaning up onto our elbows. When her brother knocks and opens her door, his hair remains in a morning mess. He's still in his sweats, but his eyes are clear and his smile is wide-awake. "You guys coming or what?"

The pinch in my heart turns into a warm-melty feeling, like ice-cream on hot cherry pie. I can feel his relaxed lightness in the air. I want to wrap myself in the feel of his good, good mood and kiss his lazy, upturned lips. I want to nuzzle my nose in his neck and breathe him in.

"Yeah, yeah." Alice continues to bubble-beam joy as she sits up. We both get off her bed, and I follow her to her door. Edward leans against the frame. _So tall. He's so tall._

"Morning, punkass," he mumble-grins, pushing Ally's shoulder. He curls some of my red-blonde around two of his fingers as I pass behind her. He tugs. He smiles. He smiles so easy-going-beautiful my knees tingle. "Morning, sunny side."

Alice walks ahead, all but skipping toward the kitchen, and I try not to smile any higher. I keep my tickled-happiness less than super obvious as her brother walks beside me. He's so tall now. My peripheral vision is level with his shoulder.

I'm careful not to walk too close. I want to look up. I wish I could look up.

"Morning, Edward," I say quietly.

He gets to the bottom of the stairs one step before me. I look up.

His smirk makes me thirsty.

He licks his lips and smiles before he turns away.

I want to freaking attack him. I want to jump on his back and kiss, kiss, kiss him until he pulls me around.

But I don't.

Because I can't.

Because _we __can't._

We're not anything anyone else can ever see or hear, or know. We're a fraction of a touch from the top of his bare foot to sole of my light-pink socked one, for just a second, once everyone is sitting down around us at the table. We're the lightest, quickest, most secret-secret contact between Carlisle passing Esme the orange juice, and Alice blowing bubbles in her chocolate milk.

We're a tenuous and insubstantial fragment of what we could be, should be, and actually are.

We're hopeless.

But I'm more than thankful. Fragments are more than hopeless could ever even ask for.

.

.

.

The second half of freshman year is going much better than the first. I still have French with Victoria, but the positives definitely outweigh the negatives. My locker pops with the greatest of ease, and I haven't had to sit dead front and center in any of my classes.

I see Edward around the halls every now and then. He's tight-lipped, but he at least acknowledges my existence sometimes when I'm with Alice. He'll pull her hood down and put mine all the way up, over my eyes so I can't even see. It's the same kind of dumb, little sister attention his friends show us, but it's whatever. It's more contact than he gives any other girl at school. He doesn't even touch Victoria unless it's to push her away.

Another bonus to this semester is having lunch hour with just Alice. All our other friends don't get lunch break until we're already back in class, and it's kind of cool, just the two of us. We sit in the far corner of the cafeteria, closest to the windows, on the table top with our feet on the benches. We can see pretty much everything from our sort of perch, and no one tells us to get down because we're not rambunctious.

"So, I know tomorrow's Thursday and it's a school day..." Alice starts, leaning back on the heels of her hands on the table top. Her bangles dangle over hemp twisted bracelets, and she's got her Black Keys tee-shirt tied up over her right hip. "But do you think your mom would let you come stay the night?"

I shrug and lean back on my hands, too. "Yeah, I don't see why not." I press my black jean covered knees together and let my boots slide apart. I glance from the countless conversations around us over to Ally. There's a smile hiding just under her aloofness.

"What's up?" I ask curiously, nudging her elbow with mine.

Her smile looks harder to hide. She brings her hand up and coughs to clear her throat. She smiles higher.

I go from curious to eager. "Ally, what?"

"Well, I mean, I should have asked if you were doing anything..."

"No." I do a quick mental check. Nope, just like I thought. It's a Thursday night. Pretty sure I'll do homework, have dinner, and eventually go to bed, just like every other school night. "I'm not doing anything. What's going on?"

I glance from her, to the tables around us, to the surrounding walls, all decorated with red and white bulletins, and pink hearts.

_Ohhh._

_Of course I don't have any plans tomorrow night. The boy I kiss would never make _those_ kinds of plans._

"It's totally stupid," Ally starts to ramble. "It's so dumb. Just because we're boyfriend and girlfriend or whatever. It's just another day of the year that Hallmark decided to capitalize on so that—"

I sit up and face her, smiling the smile she won't dare set free on her own lips. I lower my voice, but my excitement for her is uncontainable. "No way, Alice Cullen." I can't believe the words even as I say them. "Are you going to talk to me about Valentine's Day?"

Alice just laughs. And laughs. And covers her mouth and laughs harder. It's the silent-shushed-up kind that you have to keep quiet because if you don't, everyone in the world will know you're off your rocker.

"You so are!" I whisper hysterically at her. "What about it? What's happening?"

"Okay, okay, stop laughing!" She keeps grinning, her own laugh vibrating through her whisper. "Okay, nothing crazy. At all. Jasper just happened to inform me that his parents are going out, and if I wanted to come over, I ... y'know ... could."

She barely gets the last two words out before her eyes open wider, and she taps both my knees in rapid succession with both her hands.

"Ally!" I whisper-squeak, tapping her knees the same way. "Is this it? Are you guys going to—"

She shakes her head, blinking her blues closed for a moment. "No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know. Maybe!" She takes a sip of her orange drink and exhales to calm down before she explains. "Okay, this is why I need you to stay over. No way Dad would let me go over to a boy's so late on a school night, especially on Valentine's day. And I've never snuck out of the house before, even though I'm sure it will probably be fine. I just feel like if you're there, they'll never suspect it at all, y'know?"

I nod more than agreeably. It's not like I'm doing anything anyways. I'm glad and grateful to help Alice. Someone should get a happy Valentine's Day, and I know better. Edward's nice to me when no one else is around, super sweet sometimes even, but I don't fool myself into hoping for a single second that Valentine's Day will be different from any other day. It never has been. I don't allow myself to even think about it.

"Totally," I tell her, sipping from her juice when she offers it. "And a perfect plan. Of course I'll come cover for you."

"Thanks, love." She smiles, leaning her head against my shoulder as we turn our eyes back to the crowded cafeteria. She sighs a peaceful sound, a relieved and in love sound. She happy-taps the dirty toes of her Chucks on the bench below us.

"I'd do the same for you," she says.

My heart cracks splinters in my chest while I just nod, and kiss the top of her head.

.

.

.

The next morning, I put on the black bra Alice bought me last week, and I love it. I love how the dark-dark satin looks on my soft-soft skin. I love how sexy it makes me feel.

I don't have any black unders to match it, though. I think about taking it off, but I like how it looks with the sweater I want to wear, so I keep it on and pull light lavender lace up my legs.

In my own defiance against Cupid, I've neglected all the pink in my wardrobe today in favor of jeans and a black merino sweater. Edward isn't the only one who can ignore a day dedicated to loving.

I pull my hair up in a messy-high bun because my shirt dips in the back and shows off a little bit of skin between my shoulders. It adds to my sexy confidence.

At school, everyone is love-stupid. Everyone's buying red roses from the student treasury table set up in the foyer. Everyone's either paired up or avoiding the whole idea of celebrating romance. Everyone of course, except Edward and his friends.

The boys not only blow the holiday off, but have apparently skipped the school day altogether.

Kim doesn't seem bothered. She walks around with a gleam in her eyes that says Petey took or is going to take plenty good care of her. And Victoria doesn't seem fazed one way or another in French class. She's wearing black, too, and makes her anti-Valentine's sentiments unmistakably clear.

It makes me wish I could change my clothes. _C'est la vie._

Alice shows up to lunch with two Ring Pops. "They're from Jasper," she says, smiling. "He gave them to me for us, so we'd both have one. He knows who my real valentine is."

"Good thing." I smile back at her, opening the purple ring she handed me. I hold my hand out for hers and slide the little plastic band onto her ring finger. She puts the red candy ring on mine and we're married in crystallized sweetness. "Are you excited for tonight?" I ask, taking our table top seat, admiring my strawberry red ring.

"Maybe." She laughs casually. "Okay, maybe a lot, a lot."

It's funny-wonderful, seeing her so enamored.

The rest of the day passes fairly normally. I haven't heard from Edward, but no part of me really expected to, so I don't let his absence or my phone's silence bother me. We have what we have in snuck-stolen fragments and secret nights behind his closed door. Our day times and school days are spent so far apart, no one could ever think otherwise. It's who we have to be, and the older I get, the easier that fact is to understand, or at least accept.

I know it's just a number, and I know it's not even a very big number, but I'm fourteen now. Even just saying it feels different.

_Fourteen._

_It's closer to sixteen than thirteen was, that's for sure. _

_But..._

As soon as I start thinking about our ages, my stomach tightens up.

_Edward will be seventeen this summer, in less than six months..._

_Seventeen._

I sigh and take my seat in biology. I swallow, even though it feels impossible.

_I know we say love. I know we mean forever. Edward says he'll never leave without me. He swears when I'm eighteen everything will be different. We'll leave together. And I know with my head that two years isn't really so long, but there's this teeny, tiny, little twisting in the pit of my stomach__—_

"Hey,"Garrett says, setting his pen and pencil down on the table. There's paint on his hands, sunshiny daffodil yellow, streaks of white and a million hues of pink. He smiles and unzips his backpack. "I know Ally's your Valentine..." He pulls a pack of Fun-Dip from his bag. "But happy corporate holiday."

"Oh, my gosh!" I smile back, teeny tiny fears forgotten. I take the packet of candy and grin higher. "Garrett, thank you!" I lean my head on his shoulder and hug his arm as he sits down. He's solid under his long black sleeve, strong. I tear the corner of the envelope packet to open the grape powdered sugar first, licking the white candy stick before dipping it in. "This is awesome. I haven't had Fun-Dip since I was like, a kid."

He laughs through his perfect, perfect smile. It's the sound of selfless sincerity, and it makes me feel warm down to my bones. I lick another dip of sugar, and we open our books when Mr. Glasser starts class.

"What'd you get for Claire?" I whisper a little later, once Glasser has sat down and left us all to our microscopes.

Garrett smiles. It's not false-hearted, but it's not Fun-Dip sized either, and I can't help remembering what Alice said a few weeks ago. About him like-liking me. About him making me Christmas explode. I push the thought away when he replies, "Some roses or whatever."

I nod, watching his fingers set up our slides. He looks into the microscope and makes some notes on our worksheet. I dip another grape flavored lick and bite the stick. "Pretty overrated, right?" I ask about this silly seeming day of the year.

He shrugs and says, _sure_, and that's it.

It's quiet for a few minutes, but the quiet with Garrett is nice, easy-relaxed. Only when we're nearly finished and I point out that the organisms under our lens look like strange little alien seahorses does he laugh again.

Alice and Jasper greet us in the hall after class. Her ring is long gone, and her eyes are bright shining. "Fun-Dip!" she exclaims, glancing between Garrett and myself before draping her arm around my shoulder.

The boys walk behind us, and I put my arm around her, too, offering her the open packet of cherry powder. I finished the grape and green apple, and the candy stick forever ago. I've been pinkie dipping pink powdered sugar for half an hour or so.

Ally licks her pinkie fingertip and dips in. "That was nice." She side-eyes me with a smirk. "And thoughtful."

"Shut your face." I smile back. "He got his girlfriend flowers. Fun-Dip is nothing," I tell her in a lower voice.

Alice is unimpressed and unconvinced. "Every girlfriend gets flowers," she says. "That shit's basic. Required. Like, standard." She makes side-eye contact. "You mentioned Fun-Dip at the movies a fucking month ago, genius."

_I totally and completely forgot._

The face I make as I remember makes my best friend snort-giggle. She dips her pinkie again. So do I, using the sugary sweetness to distract myself from what has just become blazing obvious to me.

We bundle up snugly and say bye to the boys. Alice winks at Jasper. She thinks she's slick, but none of us missed it. Her boy smiles shyly in return.

Outside the school, Esme is waiting for us with the most brilliant smile on her face when we get in the car. Her hair is in curlers, but you'd never know because the windows are tinted so dark. And even if they weren't, she's got a pretty silk scarf wrapped around them. She has seductive and smoky sounding jazz music up and is literally beaming.

"What are you so smiley about?" Alice asks as she buckles up in the front seat, a twinkling twinkle of excitement in her eyes as she absorbs her mother's beautiful light.

I buckle myself in the middle of the backseat as Esme starts to drive.

"Your father cleared his evening and is taking me to Bridge's." She shines as she explains, radiating joyful in-love-ness. "He's at home getting ready now."

Ally opens a huge box of Turtles, and Esme tells us both to help ourselves. They were part of a gift from Carlisle. "They're Mom's favorite," his daughter informs me as she passes the box back.

I take one gratefully, knowing a few things that Alice may or may not. Bridge's is a crazy fancy restaurant. Dad had to make reservations almost two months in advance to take Mom there for their anniversary. Which means Carlisle has either been secretly planning this surprise for that long, or he really did cancel all his commitments today on a whim and his name has a pull strong enough to get him and his wife in at the nicest restaurant around without any reservations. Either way, if I was Esme, I'd be shining bright on cloud nine, too. _How ridiculously romantic._

"There are flautas and rice, and stuff for dinner if you guys want. And candy on the table. Don't wait up." Esme winks at us as we pull into the driveway.

Ally rolls her eyes as we get out. "Gross, Mom!"

Esme wraps her arms around us both and I can feel her glowing warmth. She's radiant. It makes me smile.

"I love you guys!" she calls as Alice and I slip out of our shoes, hang our coats, and head upstairs.

Ally's excitement has doubled at the fact that her parents are going to be way away, thus allowing her to leave sooner and easier. I sit on her bed and smile in support while she changes into outfit after outfit. After a few, she's dead-set on her favorite jeans, but keeps switching shirts.

"You know," I start matter-of-factly, "you could always wear one of those dresses that still has the tags on them." I stretch my legs out and give my untouched Ring Pop a taste. Alice looks at me like I've forgotten who I'm talking to. "What?" I play-ask with a wink. "Easy access."

She laughs and pulls a tenth shirt over her head, going back to her dresser. "This shouldn't be so hard!" she groans. Alice tries to smile, but I can tell she's losing her patience. It sucks not being able to find what you want to match what you feel. I know.

Ally digs through her drawers like a mad woman, blonde hair everywhere around her face. "They're just clothes! Ughhhh, Bliss, make me pretty!"

I'm at her frustrated side in an instant. "You're gorgeous," I tell her, but she doesn't look up. She keeps rifling through her tops. "Mary Alice!" I laugh loudly, grabbing her hands. She blows her insane bangs up, and I turn her to face me. "You're fucking beautiful," I say, smiling in all honest seriousness. "And they _are_ just clothes."

Alice grins, wide-eyed. "You just said fuck."

I laugh. I know I did. It just kind of, sort of came out. "Well, it's the truth, and you need to know it, and never forget it. You are fucking beautiful!"

I know she doesn't want to wear a dress, but I have such an idea. Opening her closet, I push all the hoodies and tee-shirts down, and pull a dark purple, almost black strapless halter dress from the back corner.

"No way." She shakes, laughing disbelief. "You can say fuck all you want, but I'm not wearing a fucking dress. No, no, no, nope."

"It's not going to be a dress," I sing-song promise, holding it in front of her, working my idea out in my mind. "Just trust me. Trust me and put it on. I need to see something."

She gives me a skeptical look, but takes the hanger. Shaking her head and mumbling some more skepticism, she pulls the dress over her head. The skirt part hangs just above her knees, and I can't believe what I'm about to do.

"Looks like a dress to me." Alice smirks as I walk to her desk and grab scissors.

"Just wait." I kneel in front of her and blow a breath out to steady my hands. Taking the bottom of a dress I wish I could wear, but could never fill out like Ally is, I bring the scissors up and start cutting.

Alice squeaks like a girl.

I giggle and cut more confidently, all the way up her leg, to just a couple inches below her hip. Turning and folding, and turning, and folding the fabric so that no lines or loose ends show, I tie what's left in a poofy dark purple bow just above her left hipbone. A peep of tummy skin shows, just when she moves and she's left in a brand new halter top.

"Holy shit fuck," she says with a smile, turning from side to side in her mirror. She slips her bra off and I help her better tie the straps behind her neck. Her boobs look amazing, and there's no way a boy will ever know her shirt used to be a dress. Ally's smile shines. "I'll never make fun of you for watching Project Runway again!"

"Yes, you will." I laugh back, playing with her hair.

Esme calls her goodbyes up the stairs while I'm re-straightening her daughter's hair. We're by ourselves in the house then.

"Are you sure you don't mind doing this?" Alice asks for the billionth time, checking her mascara. "You'll be here all by yourself."

"Oh my gosh, if you ask me one more time." I plop back down on her bed and open one of the music magazines on her nightstand. "It's fine, seriously-truly. I'm going to raid your mom's snack pantry and watch television you or my parents never let me watch." I smile, wholly sincere. "It's fine. Really. Somebody's gotta show me the way, and it should definitely be you."

Alice looks proud and happy to accept her role as our sexual frontier explorer. Jasper texts her. He's on his way in his brother's car. We head downstairs a few minutes later, and Alice thanks me again as she hugs me. Jasper beeps twice outside.

"Go!" I nudge her, rocking on my toes. I brush her hair back and kiss her nose. "I love you. Text me when you're on your way back."

"I will. I love you like too many hot chocolates. Thank you for this. Oh my gosh, thank you!" She zips a hoodie up over her top and puts her sunglasses on. "I love you," she says again. "_Do _wait up. I'll be back with very important lessons for you."

I laugh and lean against the wall, and then, she's out the door.

And I am alone in the Cullen house.

I wiggle my toes in my baby blue socks and smile a little. It's strange, being here alone, but not bad. Not at all. I make my way lazily to the kitchen and think about calling Edward, but I haven't heard from him all day. So, I don't. He's probably just as gone for the night as everyone else is, but I refuse to let that thought get to me.

Taking one of the flautas from the box on the stove, I walk from the kitchen to the dining room. The sight on the table is more than impressive. Piled two, three, and four high are boxes upon boxes of specialty confections. Macadamia toffees and sea salt caramels. White and dark, and milk, and semi-sweet chocolates, cremes and clusters. Champagne truffles and chai spiced divinity. It makes my lips open for a laugh and my heart swell.

_No one woman could eat so much candy. Not even me. But I bet Esme overjoyed out loud when she first saw it all. I bet she hugged and kissed Carlisle so happily, and I bet he was elated to have lifted her smile so high._

I pour a mug of white milk with a sigh and take a few pieces of candy on a napkin into the living room with me. I curl up in the very middle of the sofa and turn the television on, flipping channels until I find Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn.

I watch and nibble for a few minutes. I bite into a raspberry caramel and think about Carlisle and Esme again. I think about my own mom and dad. It's definitely less extravagant at my house, but their love is no less. Dad got up earlier than usual and made Mom breakfast in bed. There were flowers and a heart shaped box of candy, and a new copy of one of her favorite books, and when I asked if I could stay with Alice tonight, Mom was more than okay with saying yes.

I gross out a little and push away the thought that follows. I take a cold drink and think about Ally. I think about how I wish I could be all boy-crazy-love-struck with her. I want to tell her so many things, but I can't tell anyone anything, because I'm me and he's _him_.

I press the last bite of raspberry-red caramel to the roof of my mouth with my tongue and feel it melt. I don't think about the this dumb excuse for a holiday or having to avoid it, or about the haze my boy is probably spending it in. I just think about him, my Edward. I take the last small drink of cold milk with a little taste of caramel still in my mouth and close my eyes. I swallow and sink easily down into the overstuffed sofa.

I think about Edward kissing me awake in the barely illuminated morning, and the way his blues look when he first opens them. I think about firefly nights and riding on his back, and hide-and-seek spins, and the very first night I crawled into his cozy-cool bed. I breathe in and want my hoodie, his hoodie. I want to be wrapped up in his existence. I think about how his hands feel around my hands, and his weight on top of me, and the way his breath tickles my cheek, and how he uses his lips to feel my skin...

I open my eyes because I'm overheating.

I ache. There's a lot I don't know or understand, but I know that this ache is needing. It's like thirst or hunger, but different. Deeper. It's yearning and craving, and unfathomable feeling. To an unbelievable extent. I press my legs tightly together, as has become the inadequate solution to a more and more frequent strain. But it's all I can do.

I know that I need ... something.

I think about Christmas-tingle explosions, and I wonder.

Then it hits me.

Standing much too quickly, my knees wobbling, I shut the TV off, put my mug in the dishwasher and make for the stairs.

I know with every step exactly where I ache, and I kind of, sort of know why. And I think I know what I need, because I think an explosion sounds pretty accurate, and I think _maybe ... if I can just__—_

Rounding the top of the staircase, I think soothing my need on my own is a grand idea until I get exactly where I want to be to do it. Tummy butterflies spin in crazy circles with my down-low tingles as I approach Edward's door. They flutter frantic-insane while I reach for the handle.

It's cool. Or my hand is warm. Or maybe both.

I turn the door open slowly and close it behind myself. Just being in his room is instantly comforting and inside-shiver-quadrupling at the same time.

Normally, I'm a little sad to be alone in Edward's room, but there is none of that today. Not right now. Being here today feels sneaky-thrilling. Right now, having his room to myself doesn't daunt; it excites.

Fairly clean, save for cluttered notebooks and papers on his desk, Edward's bedroom space is late daytime lit and so welcoming warm. His gray-black comforter is pulled up, but you can tell by the lighter gray sheets unevenly peeking out underneath it they're still a slept-in mess.

I glimmer-shine a little from my heart outward. I love knowing exactly what his sheets feel and smell like, and how they sound when we slide between them together in the dark. I love that this place is just ours, only ours. I love all the things only I know.

I touch the corner of his bedspread and curl my fingers in the familiar fabric. I think about soft kisses with his lips and the touch of his palms over my bra, and the sound and feel of his groans in my mouth. I open my hand up and walk my fingers around the corner of his comforter and glance at his cracked open window. I think about sitting there, on his lap while he smokes, and about how he bites my fingertips sometimes when I feed him Reese's Pieces. I think about his teeth and his strength, and how deep down our love goes.

My low-low aching twists tighter, and I press my lips together. I think about the sound of my name just under my ear.

_"Bliss, baby. ... Baby, baby, baby Bliss."_

My weak knees go wobbly again, and I drop caution to the early spring breeze barely coming in. Placing both hands on his bed, I climb onto the foot of it and crawl to the middle. I stretch out on my back and turn the side of my face into his pillows. It smells mostly like him: boy soap and pot, and sweet sleep. When I breathe even deeper. I can smell me, too. Faintly, under his scent, I can smell lavender and tea tree shampoo, and powdered sugar.

I go from glimmer-shining inside to bona fide gleaming.

The needy ache in the pit of my stomach pulses with every one of my heartbeats. I bend my knees, press my thighs together, and spread my arms out across our bed. Feeling my way across his cool cotton blankets with the backs of my hands, I bring my hands back to myself and slip them under the lower edge of my sweater without a single hesitation. I touch-cover my belly button and think about loving, and belonging. I think about how even as I tried to fight it, even as I know it's heart-risky and sanity-fraying, I really do belong to Edward. Belly button. Heart. And soul. I am his.

It doesn't scare me, and it doesn't feel wrong, or bad, or dangerous. Belonging to Edward feels so, so, so good. Nothing in the whole world feels like he makes me feel, like I feel when I'm with him. Nothing even comes close.

I turn a little and breathe in, and draw absent minded circle shapes around my tummy button and the bottom of my belly. I trace a line above the edge of my jeans, right where the denim touches my skin. I feel warm all over. So warm. Burning warm.

I need. I want the boy I kiss and love and belong to, to be here.

I dip just the tippy tips of my right fingers under my jeans and nearly jump off the bed and right out of my too-warm skin when my back pocket vibrates.

"Shit—" I say out loud, half-sitting up to reset my startled nerves as I retrieve my phone. A picture Alice sent me a few weeks ago of Edward blowing a huge pink bubble inside a bubble lights my screen up.

"Shit," I say again, letting a breath out while my phone continues to vibrate in my hand. My cheeks feel so hot and my heart is thumping hard in my chest.

The thought of what I'm doing here, what I almost did, makes me giggle-calm, because really, who ever has to know? Nobody, unless I want him to.

Laying my head back down, I feel coolly confident in my own sneaky secretness. I press the button to answer and bring my phone to my ear. "Hi, hoodlum boy," I say evenly.

"Hey, pretty, pretty princess baby." Edward's smokey dark, high lighthearted voice fills my ears and covers my whole being. I can hear his smile. I close my eyes and I can see his, sparkling spring sky colored trouble that I love. "What are you doing right now?"

I smile to myself. "Not much. Missing you. What are you doing?"

"I thought about you a lot today," he replies, his tone so mellow glad. "What are you doing really? Are your parents home right now?"

I crinkle my eyebrows, curious as to where he's going and how I should reply. I hadn't expected him to call at all. I love that he did, I just hadn't thought this far in advance.

"Yeah," I say, glancing my screen for the time. It's a little after six. I'd probably just be having dinner if I was at my own house. "Yeah, they're home..." I feel my cheeks blush more. "But, I'm not."

"Where are you?" Edward's driving. I can hear muffled music and passing cars, and the wind.

I smile even higher. "You'll never ever even guess."

He laughs lightly. "Are you with my sister?"

I shake my head. I circle my belly button through my sweater. "Nope."

"Leah?"

"Nope."

He laughs again, a little darker. I can see his grin so clearly in my mind. "Go ahead," he says. "Tell me you're with Garrett so I can lay that motherfucker out."

"I'm not," I tell him, not laughing, but not not smiling either. "And that's not nice, Edward. Garrett's never done anything to you."

"Whatever." He's still grinning. I can still hear it. "Tell me where you are, baby girl. I've got something for you."

"For me?" My heart does cartwheels.

"Yeah, for you. You're my fucking girl aren't you?"

I go from gleaming to straight up sunshine beaming. I smile much, much harder than I probably should. My voice comes out shy and small in my effort to keep from stupid squeaking. "Yes," I tell him.

I hear his car door shut and the sound echoes. I soar at the idea of surprising him here, like this.

"Where are you?" he asks again, wind blows around his voice.

"Where do you want me to be?" I ask back, bending and unbending my legs, knowing he's high. I blink my eyes opened and closed again, hoping for that unfiltered honesty that makes me wild inside.

Edward chuckles again. I hear his keys. "Right now?" I hear the front door open. "In my bed, underneath me and holding on, legs open."

My whole entire body blushes. I know it does. I feel my blood heat up under my skin, everywhere. I half-hum in want and half-giggle in shyness, and my legs fall open all on their own. I press my free hand gently lower down my belly, holding that knotted up spot at the very bottom of it where I'm twisting and burning and needing.

"Where are you, little girl? Let me come see you."

I hear him just a floor below me, shuffling around, taking too long. "Come see me," I say so softly. "Come upstairs."

Edward is quiet for one, two, three beats.

Then he hangs up.

Then I hear his footsteps.

He takes the stairs two at a time, and my heart thunder-thumps so strong I feel like it's going to burst right through my chest. My anxious excitement comes up and out like a little laugh. I bend my knees again, closer to myself, spreading my legs open the smallest bit just as I hear his hand turn the door handle.

His devious curved smile makes me giggle pure joy.

_I love when he comes home._

"Baby." He's got his gray hood up, backpack and black jeans on, black Chucks, and he's holding his sunglasses in his left hand along with a small white box. Edward contemplates me with his eyes as he grins even bigger, shaking his head like he can't believe it. He drops his bag and his glasses, and the box. "What are you doing here? Where's Alice?"

He takes measured steps as he speaks, while eyes never leaving mine. I fidget my fingers in his blankets, watching him come slowly closer. "With her valentine. Where were you all day?"

When he reaches my side of the bed, Edwards grabs each of my ankles and pulls, straightening my legs out. "With the boys." He tugs me, and I slip from my elbows to my back. I giggle, and he pulls me to the edge of the bed so that my calves hang over and my feet dangle, not even reaching the floor. "How long do I have you?" he asks, brushing his hands up my legs, curving them behind my knees. "How much time do we have?"

I smile so high I'm almost squinting, still flat on my back as he stands above me, between my legs. He strokes my kneecaps through my jeans with his thumbs. I curve my ankles around the backs of his calves, wanting more, wanting him closer. "How much time do we need?" I ask, kind of playful, sort of completely serious.

"All of it," he tells me without a moment of doubt or thought. "Every second."

He looks down at me under his high-heavy lids. He looks at my mouth, my chest. He searches my eyes. His smile lifts on the left side. He looks at me like he knows my secret already, and it makes me twice as aware of my blush. He scoots me back a little and comes down to me. "What were you doing when I called you, little B?"

He touches his nose and lips, and breath to my neck, making me tilt my head tilt back. I close my eyes against his pillows, and feel my face burn raspberry-sweet pink as I remember with perfect clarity exactly what I was doing. "Nothing," I fib.

Edward gives the underside of my jaw soft kisses. "Liar," he whispers, taunting and daunting. "Tell me what you were doing in my bed without me, Bliss."

He nips the corner of my jaw and kisses my head further back. I open my mouth for a breath. _Does he know? How can he even know? _"Thinking of you," I whisper back, so the truth.

Edward hums and open mouth kisses the front of my neck. He loves my skin with his teeth and tongue, and makes me make the most desperate little sounds with every breath I take.

"Careful," I remind him so quietly, afraid of marks I want so much, but know I won't be able to hide. I arch under him and push, and pull. "Careful, be careful."

His kisses soften, but his hands grip my sides tighter and his weight feels heavier. He drags his parted lips lower down my neck, pushing my sweater out of the way as he goes. He opens his mouth just below the dip in my throat and kiss-bites gently there, working his hands under my back, arching me better for him.

My needy knots twist hotter. I want comfort, relief, help, _something._

I push my hands under Edward's hood and curl my fingers in his hair. I hold him close. I wrap my legs around his hips to hold him even tighter to where I'm burning. He groans against my chest and rocks against my center. I feel him and squeeze my legs, lifting my own hips to feel him better, and it's so good, so right just like this.

I shiver and try to open my legs more. I hold tighter to the back of his neck and Edward laughs against my skin. He sounds just as breathless as I feel, but is somehow still coherent in his control. He kisses the sensitive pink skin his teeth have been touching and moves his hands from my back to my legs. He pushes down on my knees until I understand, and let him go. He lifts his weight from me, and I blow out a long exhale, ten times needier and more sore than I felt just a few minutes ago.

_Why can't he just do it? We both want it. We both need it. I know we do._

"C'mon," he says, kissing my temple as he sits up, moving me with him. "I got you something."

Frustrated as I feel, I can't help melting a little. "Show me." I nod as I bend my legs under myself and smooth my hair out while he stands to retrieve the box from the floor. Still so happily surprised by his presence, I smile. It's Valentines day and Edward is here with me. The most vital part of my heart, the other side of forever is _here_, right where he wants to be, and he's about to put a gift in _my_ hands.

The source of all my heart-thumps and tummy flutters, and all my aching tingles grabs his backpack before he returns. "Don't give me the details," he says, "but do you have any idea when Alice is coming back?"

He sits down on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the floor and unzips his bag. I nod. "Yeah, kind of. I mean, not for a while. She's going to text me when she's on her way. Why?"

Edward pulls something out of one of the inside zipper compartments. "Because I got you these," he says as he turns toward me and hands me the gift box. "But I think you'll like them even more if you smoke this with me."

What he pulled from his bag is a blunt, and I laugh because I can't even believe it.

"Do you want to?" he asks, excitement lighting his eyes up.

I think about my parents. I think about "right" and "wrong". I think about the punkass boy in front of me, who makes me feel so loved my heart turns into a flood at his touch.

"I ... I do, um..." I press my lips together. I pick at the ankle edges of my jeans. I think about my birthday, when they all blew hits in my face, and how electric-light I felt. I weigh my thoughts with careful quickness.

"I..." I put the re-rolled cigar to my nose and smell it: warm sunny-honey-dipped strawberries and dank-sweet green trees. I think about right here. I think about today and this chance like none other. I think about the strength and the safety, and straight boldness I feel in this place.

"Yes," I say. "I want to."

Edward explores my eyes, like he's checking out my levels of trust and certainty. It only makes me feel safer.

He smiles sweet and gives my lips a chaste kiss. "Hold this." He hands me the cigar and stands up, crossing the room to open his window, then to his dresser to turn music on. I don't know the song, but I recognize the drift of Robert's voice and the dreamy-breeze of Jimmy's guitar.

Eyes on only me and smiling totally genuine, everything else in our worlds let go of and forgotten, Edward pats his pockets as he walks back to me. I smile-sigh back. I feel my shoulders relax. When he makes it close enough to the bed to reach for me, he does. He picks my right foot up and tugs my sock off.

"Hey!" I laugh, wiggling my now naked, Pink about It! painted toes. He grins crooked, reaching for my left foot and tickling my sole. I squirm and giggle. "Stop that!"

He pulls that powder blue sock off, too, narrowing his mischief-lit eyes. "C'mere," he says, tugging me by my ankle, like I weigh next to nothing at all. When I get to the edge of his bed, I sit up and raise my eyes curiously.

He slips his hands under my sweater and starts pushing it up.

I laugh, but I lift my arms and let him take my shirt off as well. My thin gray camisole still hugs my middle. "What are you doing?" I ask, confused. "I thought—"

Edward shushes me softly and dips his fingers under my tank top. He tickle-strokes my sides. I'm equal parts hopeful and nervous suddenly. I'm ready for what this looks like, but I don't understand.

"You stopped me, just a minute ago," I think out loud. "I thought we weren't—"

"We're not," he replies quietly, sliding his hands back so that his palms and fingers cover my sides completely. He brushes my bottom ribs with his thumbs, angling my body back slightly as he starts to nudge my undershirt up, too. He pauses under my arms, holding my focus as he speaks. "But you can't go back to your parents tomorrow with this smell all over your clothes. Your dad would never let you come back. I'd have to break into the chief's house just to see you."

I smirk-smile, seeing his point and knowing he's right. "You'd do that?"

Edward grips my body the slightest bit tighter. "You know I would." He smiles back at me, and he's right again.

Handling the blunt carefully, I lift both my arms for him and let him take my cami off. He tosses it to his floor with my other clothes, and I'm left in my jeans and black bra that I'm now so glad I decided to wear this morning.

He takes the cigar from me, and I square my shoulders back, pulling my legs under myself once more. I move my empty hands through my messy ponytail and then over my jeans. There's afternoon sunlight shining all over my exposed skin, warming me.

Edward sits down across from me in the middle of his bed, our criss-crossed knees bumping as he puts the cigar to his lips and sets fire to it. He pulls a few shallow puffs back to back, to back, making the lit end burn, burn, burn until it's smoldering slow and steady. He exhales to his left before taking a longer, deeper pull. He makes it look so easy. Breathing and blowing smoke, he extends the delicious smelling contraband toward my anxiously awaiting hands.

"I just like ... breathe it in?" Okay as I know I am here, I still don't want to look dumb.

Edward nods, leaning forward so we're closer together. He holds the blunt up, lit end facing him and points to the mouth end with his other hand. "Just pull from this until you feel it right here." He touches his free fingers so lightly to the front of my throat. "And when you feel it there, stop, and take another little breath in, and hold it."

I nod. He grins, crooked-fucking-beautiful. "You want to watch me do it again first?"

I've watched him do it a million times, but I'll gladly go for a million and one. His inhale is ridiculously, unreasonably, like, stupid sexy, and out of this world alluring. Returning the blunt to his perfectly pursed lips, Edward presses them closed around the end and breathes in.

The tip glows. His chest rises up a little under his jacket. His lids lower and his lashes flutter closed, then open again slowly. He parts his lips open, takes a breath in and holds it behind his smile. His eyes lift to mine and his lips curve higher. He exhales the smoke out his nose.

I giggle and he laughs, and more smoke comes out of his mouth. I sit up straighter and nod my head again, ready. Breathing all the air out that I possibly can, I lean forward so that we're even closer.

Bringing the blunt up so that his fingertips just touch my lips, Edward never takes his eyes off me as I slowly start to pull smoke. I can feel him watching even as my own lash-lids lower. I don't feel anything, so I pull a little harder until I feel the invisible tickle in my throat just like he said I would.

I lean back, quick gasp, and cover my mouth as I hold my breath. Edward rests his hand with the blunt on his knee and moves his other into my hair above my ear. His smile entreats and enchants. He whispers after a second. "Breathe out, baby."

I let my air go, but it's not air that comes out between my fingers. It's smoke, a thin-floating, warm-feeling little puff cloud of sweet smoke. I laugh because I can't believe it, and Edward laughs, too, probably because he can't believe it either.

I lick my lips. They taste like strawberry candy. I want more. "Can I do it again?" I ask, sitting up onto my knees, making us eye-level.

Edward nods as he takes another hit. Thicker smoke seeps out between his lips and the cigar before he sucks it all in, sending it to his lungs. "Yeah," his voice is scratched and deep. He breathes out and covers my chest and shoulders with his hit. "Take your hands down."

I do as he says and he presses the blunt back to my waiting lips. I pull again, just like he showed me, and I feel the tickle sooner, deeper, fuller. I cough as I exhale this time. Edward chuckles. I crack up. We both do.

We take turns. Edward pulls amazing-deep lungfuls. I breathe in steady little hits, lots of them. I climb onto his lap at some point and wrap my legs around his waist, with my arms loosely around his neck. He holds the blunt to my lips, and I hold onto him.

Smoke floats around us with D'yer Mak'er in the background. Setting sunlight burn-glows everything in his room golden. I can hear birds chirp, chirp, chirping outside, and I can feel my heart thump, thump, thumping in my fingertips. Edward runs his nose along my neck, breathing smoke all over me. I can't stop giggling or touching him. His hair is brushy soft between my fingers, and the skin on the back of his neck is so warm.

"I can feel how red your hair is," I whisper without knowing why, tasting the strawberry rasp in my voice. I play with his hair, feeling like I'm going to float-fly away. But he breathes smoke under my ear and his left arm curves around my back. I'm held, kept, loved.

I know I'm high. I have to be high because it feels like gravity is working in reverse. The thought makes me giggle some more, harder, which somehow makes me feel lighter. He laughs, too, and he's hard underneath me. I can feel him between my legs, but he doesn't push up or pull me down. He just holds me close, steady, safe, allowing me ride the breeze between us.

The song changes. Upbeat, quickly-picked guitar starts, and I want to Bron-Y-Aur Stomp dance, so I do. Kind of. It's more like I wobble up onto my feet, and when I almost fall over because Edward's bed is not sturdy for standing; he catches me. We're a vibrating mess of breathless laughs.

"I want to dance on your bed!" I tell him, smiling so high I don't know how my eyes are still even open.

"So dance, high-baby. Strawberry sunny side girl." He's all wonderful love, and he helps me balance my bare feet on his bed.

He lies on his back, and I clap my hands. Everything is different up here—higher, brighter, freer. I move with the quick drums beats and guitar string sounds, and his bed is bouncy under my so light feeling weight. So I bounce.

It tickles my tummy, so I laugh and bounce again, watching Edward watching me. His grin is promising and mesmerizing, and his eyes look dark, heavy, gorgeous, and his cheeks are pink. He pulls a hit and blows smoke up, and I jump, bounce, silly dance.

I bounce high, high, higher in the air and land on my butt next to him. I feel his carefree laugh in my own chest, and I feel this heightened sense of connectedness to him in the air around us, and I swear I can feel the rotation of the Earth.

"Pretty, pretty princess." Edward might mean to tease, but his words come out spring breeze soft as he leans up onto his elbow, sort of over me. "Princess baby, baby, baby Bliss."

My heart smiles. My lips have a pulse. "I love you," I say, touching his arm, his shoulder, feeling his solid strength through all his dark cotton layers. "I love you. I love you. I love, love, love you."

My love takes a deep hit and reaches over me to set the cigar down on his nightstand He leans above me and tilts my head back with his left hand while he strokes my naked side with his right. He brushes his thumb over the corner of my mouth and whispers so close to my lips, "Open, baby."

I part my mouth for him, and Edward touches his lips to mine so gently. He breathes smoke into me, resting his forehead on mine when he's sent his entire hit toward my lungs.

I can't take it all. Smoke floats around and between us, but the bit that I do get sends me crazy. I close my eyes and breathe it out, and my awareness swims. My heart rate doubles and the blood in my veins rocks and rolls.

Our lips touch, but we don't kiss. He doesn't lift his forehead from mine, and when I blink my eyelashes open to look up at him, his are closed. I let mine close, too, and just feel.

My brain ceases to work with words. My thoughts are all syllable-less wanting, loving, flying.

"How do you feel?" I hear Edward ask, his voice so hot-soft on my heart-beating lips. They tingle. My skin tingles all over.

"Touch me," I whisper back, stretching under him, feeling his bed and blankets dip and slide along my skin as I reach to get closer. "Touch my skin, please."

Edward groans; it sounds like he's starving. It's needy and provocative, and I've got it so fucking bad for him. I can feel my heart and my soul, spirit, whole self so wrapped up in this.

He plants his hands firmly on both sides of my stomach and runs his nose against the side of mine. He brushes his nose and lips down my cheek, around the corner of my open lips, over my chin.

My head falls back. My spine curves up. I hear myself whimper and hum, and smile out loud. He shifts onto his knees and glides his nose down my neck. It starts there, under his teasing affection, and spreads out all over me. Every millimeter of my skin tingle-burns for him.

I grip onto his sleeves. I breathe faster. I drift and stretch, and beg. "Touch, touch, touch..."

He makes another sound, more of a moan than a groan this time. He kisses the spot where his nose is circling, between my breasts, just above black satin. He slides his hands up my sides and my pulse beat skyrockets.

I press my lips together to quiet the louder whimper that comes up, and Edward kisses down my stomach, sliding one hand under my back and the other across the top of my tummy. "It's okay, B," he whisper-kisses around my belly button. "You don't have to be quiet. Let me hear you, baby love."

My lips fall open and a sound I can't even control comes out. I grip his shoulders through his shirts. "Edward..."

"Baby beautiful," he breathes in response, kissing lower, right over where his tingle-knots are twist, twist, twisting. "So beautiful, baby," he whispers like he's lost in my skin. "My girl. My fucking girl. I love you so much, Isabella baby."

I fly under him. I coo for every kiss and ooh for every touch. His fingers tickle smooth designs, and his palms tingle hot spots that he slides all across me. He takes hold of my hips and turns me left a little first, then right a little. He swirls his thumbs around my hipbones and runs the backs of his fingertips under the edge of my jeans. I feel him soft-pop the button.

I open my eyes and suck in a deep breath. His dark gold room is spinning. He tugs my zipper down. The click-zip sound fills my ears up as I realize what he's doing.

"Edward," I say, my voice airy and weightless-weak. I circle my hips away, hesitating because, even though I know it's dumb, my unders don't match my bra and I don't want to look silly.

"It's okay," he tells the bottom of my stomach, parting my jeans open. I feel his fingers touch my lace and I gasp high pitched. "It's okay," he insists, hooking his grip into my denim and tugging gently down. "I just want to see you. Let me see you."

He lifts my hips, and I move with him. I bend and shimmy, and help, made brave by his words. We never get to lie in the light like this and matching or not, I want to give him what he wants.

"Thank you, baby. Pretty girl, good girl, thank you, thank you." He kisses my legs between praise whispers. He tickle-touches down my thighs and behind my knees. He squeezes my calves so, so, so gently and nips my ankles with his parted lips.

The aching in my stomach spreads hotter, all throughout me. The needful burning he lights in me prickles painfully under the surface of all my skin.

He whispers and worships. I pant and plead.

He kisses up the inside of my left leg, feeling his way up the outside of my right. He breathes along my inner thigh and brushes his nose and lips along the lace edge of my unders. When he presses his hands into my legs and nudges me more open, and breathes hot right over my center, I yearn and crave, and feel like I'm going to die of love-starvation.

"Edward, please, please, please..." I grip his hair and pull. I try to circle my hips, but he holds me down. I fucking burn. "God, please, Edward."

I just want one kiss, right there—right where I can feel him breathing hot, hot, hot-heavy. Just one kiss.

He doesn't give it.

He grips my hips tighter and turns his face back to my inner thigh. He kisses way up to my hip and holds down my desperate circling. He bites my hipbone and drags my lavender lace down with his teeth. Just a little. Just maybe an inch.

I feel him breathing through his nose. I hear my own, and the birds, and the music, and his phone. It's muffled down in his pockets somewhere, but I hear his phone, and it pulls me out of my haze.

He kisses my skin with his tongue and teeth, ignoring the sound until it stops. Then it starts again, and I hate it. I don't know who it is at all, but it makes me think thoughts I don't want in my head here. It makes my heart feel pinched up and hurt and bothered, because behind my high-lids, all I can suddenly see is Victoria.

I push Edward's shoulders. "Stop," I tell him, my voice not even half as strong as I need it to be. "Your phone's ringing, stop."

He doesn't. He kisses up from my hip, around my belly button again, continuing to ignore the sound of a third call. It screws my high-love-bubble all up and frustrates my light-flying-carefreeness.

"Edward, stop," I say again, stronger this time.

Pulling away abruptly, Edward plucks his phone from his back pocket, practically jerks the battery out, and tosses both pieces across his room. "You stop," he warns, meeting my eyes. He's not angry. He doesn't raise his voice, but he is serious. He grabs my hips and pulls me closer. "None of that shit matters, Bella. Be with me here."

I swallow hard and hold onto his hands, feeling him hold onto me. My high swirls and blurs. Everything swims. "Okay," I nod. "Okay."

He swallows too and leans back down, pressing his lips to my belly again. His kisses are heavier this time, his teeth-touches harder. His hands glide down my thighs and grip, and squeeze, alternating between tight and easy-gentle. His attention soothes just as it starts to thrill again.

I try not to think.

I try just to feel.

But I can't.

_Why not me? Why everyone but me? _

_Like he needs to protect me? Like he even is? Like I don't know the weight and feel of his need and frustration better than anyone else? I know it best. And maybe if he'd just give in and let me help him carry it, he wouldn't need all those other girls anymore._

"I'm here, Bella," Edward says against my skin. He speaks low and soft and insistent, but he sounds tortured underneath his careful tone. "Be here with me."

_He thinks he's protecting me, preserving me, this, us, but his choices hurt. _

"I am here," I tell him, trying to make myself be, even as my heart stings. It hurts to swallow a breath, but I have to to keep from crying. "I'm here," I say again, trying so hard.

"Then fucking be here," he quietly scolds, hushed and threatening, gripping tighter and pulling me closer. He brings my right hip right under his lips and closes them over me. I cry out at the roughness of his kiss and curl my hands into fistfuls of his jacket. He sucks and bites, and digs his teeth in. He licks and kisses, and marks me. I can feel my blood rushing from my heart to under his lips. I can feel my skin turn purple for him.

He hums and groans, and breathes hot over his mark. His hands and lips soften. I let go of my hesitance and let the adrenaline he lights in my veins run its course. I tug his shoulders gently. My brain and heart are spinning hurt and surrender, and need, and love, and too many different feelings.

I just want him.

"Edward?" I whisper so quietly I barely hear myself. I blink and my eyelashes feel wet. I didn't mean to cry. I couldn't help it. I can't.

"Shhhh, don't cry, baby." His voice is strong. "Don't cry." His voice is soft at the same time and he moves up my stomach, kissing over my shaking butterflies and black satin, over and over, and over my trembling heart.

I nod, not crying, holding his eyes with mine as he settles between my legs and covers my body with his just like I needed and didn't even know. He warms me. He melts me. He calms me just by being so near.

"I love you," he tells me, wiping my accidental tears away with his thumbs. "Do you know that? I love you always."

I nod, because even though it slaughters, and even though it's impossible, I do know. I know it better than I know anything else. I know it because it's what my bones are made of.

"I know," I promise, holding onto him so tight.

Edward touches his nose and forehead to mine. He kisses my top lip, my bottom one. I need more. I could die right now for his kiss.

He blinks. He deadbolts our eyes. "You were made to love me," he says against my lips. "It's why you were born."

I nod, shake, shake, shaking like an earth quake, because I do know. I know exactly.

"I know," I say again, kissing his top lip, his bottom one, just like he did mine. "I do love you. I love you so much. Please kiss me, please, please—"

His lips are on mine before I get the third _please_ out. He kisses me with his tongue and his lips, and I can feel his heart beating in his chest, thumping hard and fast against my own. He kisses me and everything goes from glowing gold to feather-heaven-soft white.

We melt together. We're liquid loving, blending, blurring, becoming one pulsing, permanent ache. Our kissing isn't a Christmas explosion, but it's bigger than that. Greater. It's soothing and soul-symphonizing, and claiming. It's promising. It's binding.

It's knowing, even though knowing doesn't change a thing.

Edward surrounds me with love and pulls me with a kind of all-consuming and cradling care only he possesses, and I let him, regardless of the direction he chooses. I let him, because I love his hold.


	13. Our Deal

**We do not own Twilight; but I like them this way better.**

**LovelyBrutal is our Beta.**

**Best Coast – Our Deal: **_When you leave me, the bed is empty, and I feel crazy, cos' I didn't say anything. I wish you could tell me how you really feel, but you'll never tell me, cos' that's not our deal. _

**Chapter twelve – Dusty**

"Edward, wake the fuck up."

I sit up in bed, ignoring my hangover and my mom, looking over in Bella's spot to make sure she isn't here.

She's not.

_Thank fuck. _

I touch baby's pillow just to make sure, and after I've convinced myself my mom didn't just intrude on me and Bliss, I take a much needed breath and allow my headache to hit me all at once. I rub my face in the palm of my hands while Mom crosses the room, picking up discarded clothes before opening my curtains.

I lie back down and hide my face from the sun beneath a pillow.

"What do you want, Ma?" The fabric smells like my girl. "You're fucking rude."

Mom pulls the pillow from off my face and throws it across the room. "It's after two, Edward. Get the hell up before I call your dad." She steps away, tossing all of my dirty clothes into my connecting bathroom. "I know you took the car out last night, and you're lucky I moved it before your dad saw it parked on the fucking lawn."

I groan into my hands. _My bad. _

"I went over to Petey's last night. His mom—"

Mom holds up her hand, stopping me. My head is pounding. I can't deal with another argument today.

"I don't give a shit about Petey, Edward. You're drinking and driving, and you're taking the car when you've been told not to. Do it again and the keys are mine." Mom's at my dresser, pulling out random, mismatched clothes. She throws them at my chest. I laugh, but it hurts. "Get up. You're a horrible example for your sister and Bliss."

I smile to myself, sitting up in bed. _She has no fucking idea. _

My mom is halfway out the door when she stops, turning around to actually look at me. I feel susceptible beneath her glare. Guilty. Highly aware of how my own mother perceives me, and conscious about what a disappointment I am.

"You know, if you get in any real trouble Chief Swan won't allow Isabella over here anymore." I can translate the threat in her tone: _fuck up your own life, but not hers—not mine. _

I nod, pulling the white-tee over my head. "Yeah, Ma. I got it."

She slams the door. I lie back down, trying to recollect through my headache, but last night remains muddy. I kind of, sort of recall hangin' with the boys and the Sluts … maybe we were at Pete's. I don't remember the drive home; however, I know I took the car out when I wasn't supposed to.

I remember Bliss.

She was here when I got home, asleep. I remember touching her awake. I remember how her sleepy-warm skin felt when I brushed my cheek against it. I remember the way her laugh felt, and the squeeze-clinch of her fingers as she held onto my sides while I kissed her neck. I remember what her goosebumps looked like, and the soft-feather light sound of her whisper-sighs.

I remember what her lips tasted like: powdered sugar and need.

Despite my headache, I laugh out loud.

Last night, baby was brave and rolled me over, straddling my hips. I couldn't help but laugh. I tried not to, but she broke-out first.

The crinkle, crinkle, crunch was too loud to ignore.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to eat in my bed, baby Bliss?" I pulled the wrapper out from under my back: mini powdered donuts.

Her head rocked back and her eyes closed tight—she laughed so loudly.

I remember that.

I smile through these memories, and somewhere between closed-tight-eyes and rocking hips, I fall asleep and don't wake up until my powdered-sugar princess is back with me.

"Shhh..." Bella presses her finger to my lips. "I can't stay," she whispers in the low-light coming through my bedroom window.

Her eyes are excited and her cheeks are glowing. I can hear the living room TV blasting from downstairs. My mom is on the phone in the kitchen, and my dad is probably in his office.

"Where's my sister?" I ask quietly, gripping onto Bella's sides, rolling her under me.

She bites her lip and closes her eyes. She rolls her hips and kisses under my jaw. "She's outside. Jasper dropped by."

"How long do we have?"

Bella pulls up her dress, exposing her upper thighs and lower stomach. "Not long."

I attach my mouth to her neck, sucking … kissing, gripping and grabbing. I thrust my hips into her light-pink cotton underwear. Her knees tremble and her hands shake—baby came in here on a whim; she had no idea what she was walking into.

The thrill of our secret makes this so much sweeter.

"No marks, Edward," she says faintly.

I move my lips from her neck to her chest, kissing past her collar bone. I reach up, harshly pulling down the front of her dress. I mouth the top of her bra-covered breast. I bite her. She squirms.

I smile. "Sissy-girl."

"I'm not," she says, so fucking sure of herself.

I soften my smirk, rubbing my thumb over her lace-clothed nipple. I consider pulling her bra down, and I know she knows I want to, but I don't touch her. My hips are non-moving, and my thumb doesn't brush. My lips don't kiss, and my mouth doesn't cover.

Bella's chest rises and falls tensely—timidly. She's sure, but so uncertain. She's never shown herself to anyone before … if she had, I'd know.

This is the nervousness of a little virgin baby princess.

Sometimes it's easy to forget how young she is. Bella is utterly inexperienced, and she likes to play like she knows something about sex, but she doesn't. Baby doesn't realize what I could do to her. She'd let me, too. Bella loves me enough to allow me anything. She already lets me fuck with her head—she'd let me fuck her body simply because she loves me.

If I wanted to, I could pull her little nipple into my mouth and bite until she screamed. I could move her baby-pink delicates over and slide my dick inside of her, and she wouldn't stop me. I could roll and ride and push into her until she cried, and nothing I did would shelve her trust and love.

She would think it was supposed to be that way, because it's me, and she doesn't know any better.

I leave Bella's chest covered, but the cotton-top remains pulled down. She sucks in an unsteady breath, covering her bra with her hands. After a moment, and few more shaky sighs, she uncovers her chest and moves her hands into her hair, finally lying them palm down beside her head on my pillow.

I descend slowly down her untasted skin, kissing her stomach over her dress. I kiss the inside of her thigh, appreciating how untouched and brand new every inch of her is. Victoria doesn't look or feel this way. Victoria spreads her legs like a slut. She incites like a hoe. She scratches like bitch, and fucks like a whore. She taste like cigarettes, and her skin is cold. Victoria is run-through and corrupted. Every part of Vic has been stuck. She sucks dick with experience, and screams dirty words while she fakes a come because she thinks it's what she's expected to do.

Someone taught her to be that way.

There's not a single cherished quality about Victoria. She's an easy lay, a for-sure fuck, tarnished pussy. She's cold around my dick, and empty inside despite how much I fill her. She isn't like this … like my girl—my princess girl. Bella's skin radiates pureness. Her anxious-sounds prove innocence. Every shake, shimmy, and shiver shows purity.

With my face so close to Bella's center, I reach up and squeeze her breast with my hand. The balls of her feet dig into the mattress. She slightly arches her back and bites her lip to keep noiseless.

I kiss her inner thigh. I pull the soft skin between my teeth, and suck until she's twisting. I kiss the purple spot when I feel she can't take any more.

Moving back up her body, I whisper into her ear as I touch the side of her throat with the back of my fingers. "I can't mark you here," I press my palm over her the bruise my mouth just made on her skin, "but I can here."

Bella draws in a slow breath, trapping me between her knees, slowing rolling her hips. She looks into my eyes, nodding her head. "Okay," she whispers, rubbing the inside of her thighs against the outside of mine. "Okay," she says again, softly, heavily … thickly.

After kissing her lips, I kiss the top of her bare shoulder and under her chin.

Bella and I fool around a little. Never too much. Never too far. I gotta remember she's only fourteen years old. I love my girl, and I want to be with her so fucking bad—sometimes it's all I think about. Like when I fuck Vic, it's Bella's face I see. She used to be off limits while I was with another girl, but now the image of her face is the only thing that can get me through it most of the time.

With B, it's so fucking easy to get carried away. Her body tells me she's ready, but I know she isn't. And despite how badly I want her, I want to preserve this sinlessness a little while longer. I'll play along a little bit; I'll push between her legs and kiss on her skin. Every once and a while I'll whisper something obscene into her ear just to see her reaction, but I've never made her come. I've never touched her bare center … I've never even seen her breasts.

She's never seen me either. She's felt it, but Bella's never seen my cock. I doubt she's ever even said the word out loud. In fact, a couple of weeks ago I said something about how hard she makes my dick and she almost died from embarrassment. Baby's cheeks were so fucking red I was uncomfortable for her.

But that's our deal.

Bella is two and a half years younger than me. She's a baby compared. And outside of this room, I have a whole life she doesn't know much about. The drugs, the sex, the parties. At night, Bella baby is tucked in tight, and I'm out getting my dick wet and my head fucked up. I guess I want to keep the two worlds separate for a while longer. Even if she thinks she knows.

Bella hears shit—rumors and nonsense. I knew once she was in high school it was going to be harder to lie to her, and easier for her to find out shit about me and other girls. Especially Victoria. Bella will believe almost everything I say to her, but she's wary of Vic. It's probably why B pushes this sex shit so hard. I'm sure she believes if we have sex I'll stop messing around.

"Edward … Edward ..." Her moans cut off her next set of words.

I kiss the top of her pelvic bone. I kiss her hip. "I love you," I whisper, so fucking thankful she chose me. "I love you so much."

Bella tugs on my white v-neck, pulling it over my head. My lips are back on hers; Bella's tight grip holds onto my sides.

"We can do it, if you're fast." Her tone is courageous, but the tremble in her fingers lets me know better.

_What will she do if one day I just fucking do it? _

Because I will. One day I won't be able to stop myself.

One day I'll literally fuck her; it won't be hypothetical anymore.

"Right now?" I whisper-ask, pushing my hard dick along her soft, too warm middle.

Her breath catches, but she leans her head back, opening up her neck for me. "Yes. Just be fast."

_Just be fast._ She is so clueless.

It would take me forever to fit into her tight pussy. She'll cry—she'd probably ask me to stop.

I wouldn't.

Once I'm finally inside of her, I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop.

I circle my pelvis into her, kissing and re-kissing her lips until I can't anymore. I move my hips until my stomach starts to burn … until I'm close. I can hardly breathe. My face tingles, and my movements are harsh and desperate.

It isn't until Bella cries out and arches her back … and I mean, she really arches her back … that I notice that she's close, too. Her legs are spread, parted and wide, her arms are slack at our sides, and her mouth is the slightest bit open. Baby has her eyes closed and her cheeks are cherry-bomb red.

I stop and roll over, breathing _waaaaaay_ too quick. "Fuck. Fuck … fuck!" I groan loudly, rolling through the pain of stopping. I push down on my dick, hoping she won't notice how fucking hard I am for her.

But that isn't a problem.

Beside me Bella is fighting her own struggle. Her chest is panting up and down, her cheeks are far past blushed, and her eyes are squeezed tightly shut. "Oh my God, what was that?" she whispers breathlessly, pressing her thighs together.

_Touch yourself, baby,_ I want to tell her. _Touch yourself and come. _But I don't. Instead, I pull down her dress and sit up, pulling at the ends of my hair.

"Edward..." Bella moan-pleads, looking for something to help her burn.

I almost turn around and do it.

But the knock on the door comes first, then the handle jiggles. It's locked.

"Edward, open up and look what Jazz brought for me."

Bella sits up with her hands over her mouth. Her eyes are wide and panicked. She's up on her knees, doing her best not to freak the fuck out. She makes me laugh.

"Hold on," I say toward the door.

I move Bella's hands away from her face, kissing her lips. I pick her up and carry her to the bathroom, and for shits and giggles, I put her in the shower and close the curtain. "Stay quiet, strawberry-blonde."

"Edward!" she giggles.

I shut the bathroom door and pull my shirt back on before I let Alice in. "What?" I ask, crossing the room, opening the window so I can smoke.

"Look!" she shrieks.

I light my smoke and take a drag before looking. I have no idea what she's showing me, though. "What is it?"

"Ugh, Edward, it's a Hello Kitty Chia Pet."

I laugh, flicking ash out the window. "What?"

Alice sits on my bed—the same bed I was just dry fucking her best friend on—and holds up her clay cat head. "J and I were watching TV last week and saw a Chia Pet commercial, and I was like, _I want that! _Then he bought me one. Nice, right? I love him."

I roll my eyes and toss the butt out the window. Ally's been with Jasper for a while. It's whatever. He's whatever. I don't think too much about it. As long as he's not fucking with her, it's good.

I step to my sis, taking the clay pot out of her hands. I look at it, decide it sucks and kick her out of my room.

"Bliss will like it," she says, closing the door behind her.

As soon as the door clicks shut, B is out of the bathroom. She sticks her tongue out at me before climbing into my lap.

"What was that?" she whispers with shimmered cheeks. Her face is flushed, light-colored. "What was happening to me? It felt … like …" Her eyes are searching mine, looking over my face for the answer. Her skin is luminous, her lips are swollen, and her eyes are hazy and hooded. "It felt like I was on fire … inside."

I don't hesitate to slip my hand up her thighs, under her dress, over the mark. "Here, baby?" I ask. "Did it tingle here?"

"Yes," she whispers, smiling slightly.

I don't answer her. I don't want her to know. I don't want her to have it yet. Not until I'm ready to give it to her. "You better go, Bliss."

Her smile grows as her bare feet press into the carpet and she stands up, straightening out her yellow cotton dress. Bella runs her fingers through her uncharacteristically knotted hair. She blows me a kiss before opening the door and looking out, and when it's safe, she leaves.

I lie back and take a deep, much needed breath. "_Fuuuuck_," I groan. I grip my hair at its roots, trying to calm myself down.

She hurts my fucking chest.

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.

.

After a long shower, I smoke a clip and head downstairs to grab something to eat. My feet are bare and my hair is wet. I feel good. I feel light. I think I might stay in tonight. Maybe I'll stick with my mom and watch a movie. I kind of, sort of want to be near my girl.

A quarter of the way down the stairs, I hear Alice laughing.

Halfway down the stairs, I hear Bella.

At the last step, I see Garrett and Jasper.

And just like that, my mood instantly changes.

Jasper is a quiet motherfucker. Like, eerily quiet. He speaks in sighs and nods and blinks. His eyes carry a mature depth, I guess. He loves my sister, and he's never been anything but respectful. Since my sister turned fifteen last month, my parents have been more permissive about Alice and her boyfriend. He comes over more often. They're left unsupervised … he's allowed into her room. But it's not him I care about. It's the other one.

The fucking sweater giver.

He likes my girl. I'm not stupid. He's probably _in _love with her, but Bella's too fucking naïve to notice.

She's sitting on the furthest end of the couch, with her feet under her, twirling a lock of her strawberry hair between her fingers, smirking. Her cheeks are still slightly flushed—she's still glowing. Bella doesn't look up when I come down, but she knows I'm here.

We always know.

It's part of the deal.

My sister is sitting at Bella's feet with her head leaned on her bent knee. The Chia pet is beside her, keeping safe. Garrett is between Bella and Jasper, but more toward B. He has a baseball cap low on his head, almost covering his eyes. He's watching Bella's fingers move through the ends of her hair … his smile matches her own.

"They stayed?" I ask. "I thought you said he just dropped by?"

Bella doesn't look up, but Garrett does. So do Alice and Jasper.

"What?" Alice asks, caught off guard. "What the fuck are you talking about, Edward? I never said anything."

I stare at Garrett, but not for too long. He clears his throat, lifting his hat off of his head before placing it back over his eyes. He has more will than Jasper does. I don't think Garrett would be as quick to stand down, where Jasper would rather avoid any kind of conflict all together. He's still quiet, but he stands taller. He pays more attention.

I hate the motherfucker.

It isn't until everyone else looks away that Bella finally looks up. She smiles, but it's slack. Her eyes follow me as I walk into the living room and sit on the recliner. I take the remote from the table and turn whatever they were watching.

"Dick," Alice mumbles under her breath.

"What's up, man?" Jasper greets me quietly.

I nod my head and watch Garrett shift uncomfortably. He sticks his hands into the pockets of his black zip-up hoodie before sitting up straight. Too straight.

"What are you kids up to tonight?" I ask, flipping through channels.

"We're not doing anything," Bella mumbles.

I look at her and smirk before tossing the remote onto the floor and getting up. "Whatever."

My mom is in the kitchen, already in her pajamas. Her light-pink silk robe sways at her knees as she pours herself a glass of wine. Her hair is twisted up, unusually messy. Her bare feet are flat on the kitchen tile, and her face is free from any kind of make-up.

She looks beautiful.

"Hey, Ma," I whisper, kissing her cheek. I lean against the counter, memorizing how beautiful she looks to me right now, so I can keep it for later … for always.

"You're finally up." She smiles, handing me what's left of the wine and leaning beside me.

I drink it right out of the bottle. "I think I might stay in tonight," I say, realizing how much taller than her I am. I put my arm around her, pulling her in front of me. I hug my mom from behind, silly-whispering stupid little shit she likes to hear in her ear.

Esme Cullen may seem hard as fucking rock outside of these doors, but she's insecure. She doesn't let that side of her show too often, but she and my dad had a really hard start. Between the fighting, the cheating, her dying dreams, and my dad's mom, I don't think she ever completely regained her self-worth. There must be some shit that's impossible to overcome. Shit she buries with a bottle of wine a couple of times a week.

She's a good actress, though.

Her and Bliss are the same in that aspect.

So she giggles and squirms while I softly assure: _"I love you, I love you, I love you."_ and,_ "I'm sorry I'm such a shitty kid, Mom," _and _"You should tell Jasper and Garrett to leave because they suck."_

Mom laughs out loud, and it's so fucking pretty. She turns in my arms before smacking me in my chest. "Be nice to your sister's boyfriend, Edward," and "Cuddle me?" she asks, taking a sip. Before heading upstairs to start our movies, she adds: "It would do you some fucking good to find a girlfriend, too, baby."

I eat some cereal at the kitchen table by myself, thinking about my princess-baby. Thinking about what it would be like if shit were standard—if we ever just said _fuck it_ and told everyone.

It's not her pops I'm worried about. There is no fucking doubt in my mind that motherfucker would throw my ass in juvie for touching his underaged daughter … but that's what my dad is for. He'd get me out of trouble. And if her parents tried to keep Bella away from me, I'd find my way to her. Charlie and Renee Swan can't match my determination when it comes to Bliss. I'd fight until I was bloody knuckled and halfway in the grave for her. Even against them. Especially against them.

In a lot of ways they drove her to me. She's suffocating in their care, and I'm the reckless bad boy they are so afraid of. I'm her freedom from them—her uprising … her way out.

And I will. One day. I'll get her out of here … out of their constricting grip. I'll get us both the fuck out of here. I look forward to that day.

Baby-bliss is all I want. And my parents wouldn't have a problem if they knew about us. My sister would be pissed, but my mom and dad wouldn't give a shit. They'd probably help us keep it a secret from the Chief and his wife.

I'm just not ready.

I know that makes me a coward. I love her. I'm _in_ fucking love with her. Bella is everything to me. Literally. Sometimes it's too much to think about. She fills my chest and consumes my heart-beat. She makes my hands tremble and my skin chill. She makes me restless and sleepless. _Fuck,_ sometimes I have to get up and walk it off because I'm so fucking absorbed by the feelings I have for her I can't stay still. She lights me up. She leaves me with no choice other than to love her.

The thought of that motherfucker out there ever touching her … ever getting close to her—ends me.

But despite all of that, and instead of making this real, I choose to lie. And I never ask myself why I do this shit to her … to us. I really don't know. I do what I do. Bliss has my heart, and that will never change, but my head isn't completely with her. I want to party. I like to take care of my friends. I like the drugs and the booze. I don't give a fuck about the girls, but they're a part of it.

It's really shitty of me, and I'm a huge hypocrite, because she's mine and I won't let anyone near her, but I'm not set to let go of my other side—the side that constantly tricks her. The side that lies and plays and fucks around.

She stays in my room … she stays with me. If I lie hard enough, well enough—we'll be fine.

Because one day, one of these fucking days, I'm going to take her away from here, and it'll be different. It'll just be us.

That's our deal.

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.

.

I knock on my parents' door before I open up. Dad's at the end of their bed, still in the clothes he came home from work in. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his hair is mess, as if he's been running his hand through it. He's flipping through a file, typing shit into his laptop, watching Letterman.

"Hey, Pop," I say, walking over to the bed. My mom is asleep under the covers, tucked in tight.

"She fell asleep," Dad says, closing his computer. "I think she was waiting for you, but she didn't last long." He laughs, standing up.

I get into bed beside my sleepy mother. Dad gets in, too. He lies flat on his back, exhaling a long tired sigh. We talk for a while, about nothing … about everything. We bullshit and laugh and keep quiet when my mom shifts. When she snores, we make fun of her. I hold her hand and kiss her palm.

When the conversation stops, I think I might fall asleep between my parents, but my cell phone rings. It's in my room, so I ignore it at first, but it continues to ring. As soon as the phone call flips to voice mail, it's already ringing again.

My dad takes this as his cue to get back to work, so I get up, too. I run out of their room, past my sister's open bedroom door, and into mine. My phone is on my nightstand, lit up and vibrating.

"What, Pete?" I answer, falling back onto my bed.

"Can you come over? Dude, it's my fucking mom."

"Yeah, I'll be right there."

Twenty-minutes later, I'm dressed and heading out the front door. Alice and her friends are in her room, and I didn't say good bye as I passed, but I felt Bella's eyes on me. On the short walk to my car, I take out my phone to text her, but the front door opens first. Baby runs down the steps, meeting me in front of my Volvo.

"Where are you going? I thought you were staying in tonight." Her arms are crossed over her chest. She rubs her goosebumps away, bouncing on her toes, trying to keep warm.

"Something came up," I say, lighting a cigarette, looking past her. "You should probably go in before my sister comes out here, Bella."

"She won't."

I laugh, taking a drag. "I gotta go, princess." I kiss her forehead and get in the car.

She doesn't bother sticking around to watch me drive away.

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.

.

Fridays are always bad for Petey.

Payday.

His mom, Rachel, spends her entire check at the very same bar she works so hard to earn it from. She doesn't usually bother to come home on Friday nights, but if she does, she'll be in this condition: face down, sleeping in her own puke.

"I can't get her to wake up," Pete whispers, walking around, picking up Rachel's empty alcohol bottles."She's breathing, though," he adds, flipping on the kitchen light.

Petey spent the day with Kim, thinking his mom would be out. He came home and found her passed out on the living room floor. The house has been turned upside down, and it smells worse than it looks. He's thrown a sheet over her body, but I can still tell she isn't dressed. I hate seeing her this way. She's always been a drunk, but she hasn't always been pathetic. Rachel used to be pretty cool. She used to be a halfway decent mother.

I take off my sweater and fold it, placing it on the arm of the couch. I grab a trash bag from Peter and help him pick up bottles and garbage. We fix the furniture and step over Rachel as we walk between the kitchen and the family room. I wash the dishes while Petey cleans the bathroom. He comes out gagging, ready to kick his drunk, passed out mom before going back in.

It takes us most of the night before the house looks decent. We stand around his mom, having left her for last.

"You take her hands, and I'll take her feet," Pete mumbles, turning her onto her back. The sheet falls away and we both see everything.

It makes me so fucking sad, and when Petey starts to cry, it breaks my fucking heart.

I try to fix the sheet, but once we have her lifted, it's no use. She's heavy, and we struggle to carry her down the hall. Pete drops one of her legs. He gets mad and punches the wall before spitting words his mom will never hear. He tells me to leave her, but I don't. I hook my arms under hers and drag. Pete finally gives in and lifts her legs again.

Rachel's room smells like cigarettes and old stale food. We don't turn on the light after we're in, and I trip over some dirty clothes. I catch my footing and walk backward around the bed. Pete and I drop his mom on her mattress, cover her up, and leave. I go outside and smoke while he tries to clean the puke his mom was just sleeping in. When I hear him dry heaving, I go back inside and help him out.

It's fucked up, but Petey, Ben, and I have spent plenty of nights doing this same shit with Rachel. It goes without saying that we take it to the grave.

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.

I don't remember much of Saturday night. After the house was clean, Pete and I took turns showering before we called Ben and the Sluts over. Dimitri showed up, and we all got high. By the time I got home on Sunday, Bella was already gone. When I tried to get a hold of her, she didn't answer any of my phone calls or return any of my text messages.

It made for a shitty night and an even worse morning.

Alice has been keeping her distance from me. She rides in the back seat on the way to school and doesn't say a word the entire drive. She knows I'm upset, but she can't even begin to understand why. She made the mistake of asking me when I woke up this morning. I snapped and didn't bother apologizing. I can't be bothered with anything else when I'm like this: crazy, worried, frustrated with her—with Bella.

I deserve Bella's anger. I probably know why she's ignoring me, but I don't accept it.

I fuck up. She gets it. That's our fucking deal.

I park the car in the student parking lot; Alice gets out right away, slamming the car door before heading straight to class. I'll make it up to her later, but right now, my head is in one place, looking for one person. I sit against the trunk of the Volvo, waiting for her dad to pull up in his cruiser. I don't know if it's because I look like I don't want to be fucked with, or if I'm just lucky, but I'm grateful no one approaches me. I'm not in a social kind of mood.

I stick my hands in my pockets; I take them out. I take my sweater off; I put it back on. I'm twitchy as fuck, ready to flip when Charlie finally arrives with Bella in tow.

I wait for her to get out of the car before grabbing my backpack and following her into school. I keep back, acting as if I'm walking to my own class. If Bella knows I'm behind her, she doesn't let on. She walks easily; her steps are light and not rushed. Her red ballet flats make a slight squeak on the school's cheap tile floor. She has her black folder held to her chest against a white tank top and red sweater. Her head is down, and her yellow-soft curls fall over her shoulder. Bella doesn't notice the way people look at her as she walks. The girls look with envy, and the boys looks with want. But when they see me, they look away.

She turns the corner, and I'm right behind her, ready to pull her to the side. I'll make something up. I'll tell her I'm sorry. She'll forgive me because she has to. She'll take this pain in my chest away, because she is the only one who can.

_She's the only one who can put it there. _

"What the fuck!" Victoria punches me in my chest; I'm caught off guard so my shoulder slams into a row of lockers. "You fucked Mixie? Seriously?"

I stand up straight, righting my backpack on my shoulders before looking away from Victoria and right at Bella. She sees me now. She hears me now.

Petey and Ben are running up the hall with Mixie not far behind them. Victoria's in my face. Her long black hair is up and pulled back. She's wearing a large black hoodie and blue skinny jeans. Her Docs are unlaced, and her eyes are red like she's been crying, like she actually can. She's ready for a fight. She wants me to argue about this with her in front of everyone. She wants me to make a scene. She wants to show Mixie that I'm not hers to fuck.

But that's not our deal.

With my best friends still running, the Sluts waiting, and Bella watching, I say, "So?"

She hits me again.

My friends laugh.

Bella walks away.

I'm famous for not explaining shit. Ask my parents. Ask my friends. Ask Bella. But I didn't fuck Mixie. She sucked my dick on the back porch—that was the end of that. I don't know how Bella found out, or if she even knew before I just confirmed that _something_ happened with Mix, but I gotta fix this, because she's mad over something I did. And I need to find out who the fuck keeps filling her in.

I don't stick around to watch Mixie and Vic go at it. Aside from Kim, who is strictly Pete's, the Sluts are pass-around girls. They fuck around with me, Ben, Dimitri, or whoever the else we have around when we're together. By now, I 'd think they have that figured out. Especially Mixie; she's fucking somebody new every weekend.

.

.

.

Bella is good about avoiding me for most of the day. Our class schedules conflict, and every time I do see her, she's with my sister or another one of her friends. Mixie and Vic calm down, and by lunch everything is back to normal. Only I'm still in a shitty mood, and it only gets worse when I see Bella with Garrett.

They're in the lunch line talking. I try not to look, but it's near fucking impossible. My adrenaline is pumping and my heart beat is echoing in my ears. Alice and Bliss have been in school for a while now, and most of the guys around here know to stay away from them. Putting word out that they were my sisters wasn't hard, and for the most part, the entire school knows they're untouchable. But there are two fucking people those rules don't seem to apply to: Garrett and Jasper.

I want to break Garrett's fucking face, but I can't. I have nothing to justify it with, and Alice would kill me if I did.

But it would almost be worth it.

By the time lunch is over, I'm past livid. My friends take on a similar role as my sister did this morning, avoiding any kind of communication with me at all. Victoria tries to talk, but easily cowers when I push her hand away from my hair.

I consider leaving school on my way to class, just to get away. I feel restricted, literally drowning in this fucking ache. Not speaking to Bella for an entire school day isn't anything unusual. We rarely talk at school, and if we do, it's never alone … but she's deliberately avoiding me because of what I did, and it's more than I can handle.

As I'm about to step foot into class, deciding to stay for another hour, I see her. Bella is waiting at the end of the empty hall. Her folder is still pressed against her chest and her hair is still over her shoulders. I don't skip a beat, heading right for her.

When the bell rings, we're the only two students left out of class.

"Hey," she mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

I try to lift her chin, but she smacks my hand away.

"Do you want to get out of here?" I ask, sticking my thumbs behind my backpack straps.

Bella finally looks at me, and like Vic, her eyes are red. The difference is that I know Bella _can_ cry … I made her, and I feel awful about it.

"Sure," Bella says, surprising me.

I try not to smile, but I can't help it. I take Bella's hand in mine and lead her out the back door. We have to round the building toward the school parking lot. Bella remains quiet, but having her with me is already relieving the hurt in my chest.

When all that is left between us and the car is the parking lot, I tell Bella to run. She giggles, taking away a little more of the ache. I know we're not in danger of getting caught. I've ditched school enough times to know the dumb motherfuckers in charge of this place aren't really paying attention to who is coming and who is going, but the thrill of our little escape is exciting Bella, so I play along. Our backpacks bounce on our backs, and her laugh gets louder the closer to the Volvo we get.

"Hurry, princess-brat," I say, pulling her a little faster.

"I can't run in these shoes!" She giggle-pants.

When we get to the car, I pretend to have trouble with the keys. Bella bounces up and down, trying to help me. When I finally get the car door open, she jumps in and climbs to the passenger side seat where she sinks down and hides.

It's so fucking cute.

I don't become legitimately cautious until we pull out of the school driveway. Now we're on Chief Swan's streets, and if he catches me with his daughter, we're fucked. I follow the speed limit, taking side streets until we're out of Forks and entering La Push. B sits up straight, but her giggle and smile are gone; we're back to awkward and tense. I try to hold her hand, but she pulls away. I roll down my window and light a cigarette instead of fighting about it.

I drive faster once we're in La Push. We only have a few hours before Bella needs to be back at school, where her mom will pick her up.

Bella doesn't question me when I pull into First Beach. She doesn't say a word when I get out of the car, and she doesn't ask me where we're going when I start walking; she only follows quietly.

Halfway to the bay, at the very end of the beach, I'm sick of not touching her, so I put my arm over her shoulders and pull her closer to me. Bella surprises me by holding on, circling her arms around my lower back and stomach. Her hair blows and circles in the sea-salt wind. She giggles, and I stop to help her push it down, only the second we start walking again, the wind picks it right back up.

We let it.

"Remember when we saw this place?" I ask her, sitting in the sand in front of the old dock.

Bella sits beside me, taking off her shoes to empty the sand. "Yeah. That was a long time ago."

We're quiet for a while longer, allowing the sun to soak into our skin. It makes me feel better. The air smells ocean-clean and the light rays force my blood to flow a little more fluidly. Bella lays her head on my shoulder, sighing. Her eyes are closed and her toes wiggle. I tell her I'm sorry, and she says she already knows I am.

"I didn't mean—" I try to explain.

She cuts me off. "Can we come here, like all of the time?" Bella falls back into the sandy-sand. Her red hair fans around her head. She never opens her eyes.

Baby makes a sand angel, laughing when I fall beside her. I kiss the corner of her mouth. She starts to cry.

"I am so fucking sorry, baby," I say sadly.

Bella wipes her tears away, trickling sand on her cheeks as she does. She turns her head and looks at me. "It's like Kim can't wait to tell Alice everything about you. That's sick, right? Like, why? I want to scream at her, and say, you're not hurting Alice, you're hurting me. But I can't. I can't stop you from doing it, and I can't stop her from telling me about it, and it hurts me so bad." Bella covers her mouth, muffling her little sobs.

I stay beside her, listening, afraid to say a word, afraid to touch her—deserving every tear-fall. It's at least a hour before either one of us move: her hands are folded on her stomach, I cover them both with one of mine.

I think Bella's cried herself to sleep when I lift my head and search her face, but she finally opens her eyes and smiles so fucking sweetly my heartbreak breaks all over again.

"I love you," I whisper against her lips.

"I love you," she moans against mine.

I hitch her leg over my waist, open-mouth kissing her neck skin. I want to push myself against her, but I don't. I ache for her so fucking badly I can't trust myself to move. I'm kiss, kiss, kissing and love, love, loving. Hope, hope, hoping she won't ask.

But she always does.

"Please, Edward," she begs desperately. Bella tries to move her hands between our bodies to unbutton my jeans.

I groan against her lips, stopping her hand. "Don't ask me that now," I say between tight teeth. My entire body shivers, fighting against what is right. If she asks me one more time, I'll do it. I'll fuck her on a beach just to feel the connectedness we starve for so fucking badly.

To be inside of her...

Bella circles her hips and pulls on my shirt. She's mad underneath me, digging for it … struggling to get it. But my dick won't make this better. It'll only make it worse.

_I already can't breathe. _

"Fucking you won't take it away, Bella," I whisper regretfully.

She's crying again, warring against my weak resistance. She pushes my shirt up and pierces her nails into my skin. She bites my lip until I bleed and circles her hips until she cries out.

It's when I roll over.

"Don't fucking do that," I say breathlessly, watching her squeeze her legs closed, rolling through an unsuccessful come.

Once she's recovered enough to move, Bella straddles my hips. Sand falls from her clothes and from her hair. She works with my zipper and punches me in the chest when I push her hands away.

"Why them?" she scream-cries. "Why them and not me?"

I sit up and hold her arms back by her wrists. I kiss her mouth while pushing her down on my dick. "You make my dick hard, B," I say sharply, knowing what her reaction will be.

Her stare holds, though.

I move her hips in a slow, slow circle, allowing her to feel every fucking inch of my cock. "Do you want to see it, Bella?" I ask. "Do you want to put it on your lips? In your mouth?"

She finally looks away, pulling on her wrists. "Shut up," she says, losing her fight.

"Come on, Bliss baby, let me fuck you, right here on this beach where anyone can walk by and see us. Let me show your little pussy off."

"Fuck you." Bella pulls hard, and I let go of her wrists.

"No, B, fuck you."

Our stares hold.

"Don't you get it, baby?"

"What's there to get?" she asks.

"That I love you."

"Well, you have a shitty way of showing it."

She makes me laugh with her dainty little curse words. "Maybe I do, but it doesn't make it any less true."

.

.

.

It's been a few weeks and shit has finally calmed down with Bliss. She ordinarily forgives me easily, but this time she made me earn it. I stayed home the weekend after our fight, and at two in the morning, I went out and bought her a Coke slushy and a Twinkie from the 7/11.

I kissed her when no one was looking, and I held her hand under the blankets while I watched shitty eighties movies with her and my sister. We made soda floats, which was cool, and my baby girl was happy, which was even better. She was good, I was good, we were good, and by that Sunday morning, I was forgiven.

Bella and I have ditched school twice in the last three weeks to lay in the sun at the beach. I hate to say that it's "our spot" because that sounds so fucking lame, but that's exactly what it is: our place away from everything else.

It's our deal.

After Bella told me it's Kim who has been enlightening her about my weekend unfaithfulness, I take her to the side and very nicely asked Kimmy to shut the fuck up and keep my business away from my little sister and her friend.

"Her friend" being Bliss.

Kim is a difficulty, though.

She's a Slut, but she's Petey's Slut. And to be completely real, she isn't a slut at all. Kim's caught up in Victoria's cocaine bullshit, and she's treated like the other girls are, but she's only ever been with Pete. And Pete is only ever with her, even if he won't admit it. They are the closest thing to a real couple that any of us have ever experienced. Except for me and Bliss, but Ben and Pete don't know about that.

After I tell Pete the deal with Kim and her big fucking mouth, he tells her to knock the shit off, too. The sad thing is, she was probably only ever doing it to get more attention from her man. Pete is close with Ally. Of course that shit's innocent, but love will make you think some pretty crazy shit.

I know.

Love is an insane fucking deal.

Now, after a weekend spent with my girl, and a weekend kept low key with Ben and Pete at Petey's, I'm ready to get fucked up.

We smoke a bowl and get ready to leave. My parents are letting me take the car because I've been on my best behavior, and I feel good … free. Like my head is as straight as it's been in a while. Baby doesn't really want me to leave, but she never does. Since Ben and Pete are here, she can't come into the room, but we steal-sneak kisses in the kitchen while Alice sleeps on the couch and my boys wait outside. She promises to be there when I get home. I tell her she better be.

I don't realize how fucked up I really am until I'm on the road. This guy, Jake Black, from school is having a party in La Push and we're going. The stereo in this the Volvo is shitty, but the music is on and up, anyway. Ben is lighting up in the back, and Petey is riding shot-gun, talking to his lady.

My cell phone won't stop ringing in my pocket.

"Dude, don't answer that shit. It's Queen Slut." Petey laughs, while swearing to Kim she isn't a Slut. "Only your friends are, baby," he says. Ben snorts, I laugh, and Pete rolls his eyes.

I swerve a little to the left.

"Keep straight, motherfucker, before I spill this bud all over the fucking car."

I watch Ben from the rear view mirror. I try not to swerve, but it's fucking hard. My stupid phone won't stop ringing, Pete's still trying to convince Kim she's not a Slut, and Ben is swaying back and forth in the center of the back seat, with high-shut eyes, trying to roll a joint.

It's all so fucking funny, and once I start laughing, I can't stop.

My phone won't stop, either.

"Someone tell the Mega Slut to stop calling my fucking phone!" I yell, laughing, swerving. My headlights shine on the wrong side of the road. I should probably be grateful that no one else is out driving this late.

I'm losing time. In the blink of an eye we're out of Forks and driving down the highway in La Push. My car is full of smoke. I roll down my window, coughing.

"You guys, chill out for a minute," I say, rolling down all four car windows.

Petey drops his phone. He bends down to get it and bumps his head on the dash board. All three of us are laughing. Ben passes me the joint.

I lose some more time. I'm further into La Push than I remember driving. We're on some old, bumpy ass road. The windows are still down.

Petey's talking to me, but I can't hear what he's saying. His words are jumbled, but his lips are moving. I think we passed Jake's house. I'm pretty fucking certain we're lost.

"Pass the fucking joint, bro!" Ben pops his head up from the back seat. He takes the joint from my mouth and slips it between his lips, leaning back, closing his eyes.

My phone is still ringing.

I reach in my back pocket—my car swerves to the far right. Petey reaches over and corrects it. We all laugh.

I think I answer my phone. Victoria's voice is in my ear, but like with Pete, I have no idea what the fuck she is talking about.

More time has passed. I have no fucking clue where we are, but I'm still driving. It's dark out, void of other cars or signs of life—total forest.

Ben isn't laughing anymore. He's too high. He's fucking stoned and stunned.

I keep both hands on the steering wheel, squeezing my eyes shut and shaking my head. Petey's back on the phone, smoking the rest of the joint by himself.

"I have no idea where we are." I admit, erupting in laughter.

"What?" Petey always becomes paranoid when he's smoked too much. "What, dude? What? We're lost?"

Ben snaps out of it and rolls over, laughing so hard he cries.

It's infectious.

"Dusty, dude, pull the fuck over! Pull over!" Petey is buggin' out.

He's a fucking trip.

And it's all fun and games until he actually gets the car door open and I lose control of the car, reaching over trying to shut it again.

The car spin, spin, spins. The Volvo headlights circle, circle, circle. My stomach flop, flop, flops.

All I see is trees, highway, trees, highway, trees, highway.

Ben sits in the middle seat, laughing while holding onto the roof of the car. "Fuuuuuck!" he yells.

Petey's halfway out of the open car door, his seat belt the only thing keeping him inside—keeping him alive.

I don't know how many times we spin before the car skids off of the highway and into the dirt and trees. I hear crunching, then popping, and everything goes completely dark before we finally impact.

.

.

.

When I regain consciousness, the very first thing I notice is that that car horn is continuously honking. The headlights are out, but the radio is still playing. I don't know why, but I try the volume dial and it works.

Nothing hurts, but I'm disoriented. My hand are shaking. In fact, my entire body is rocking: My bones are shivering. My blood is rolling. My nerves are quaking. Every single part of me is vibrating.

Or that's just how I feel.

With a shaking hand, I undo my seat belt and reach over for Pete. He's still hanging out of the car. His head is hung forward, and the seat belt has cut into his neck.

"Peter," I say with a voice that also trembles. I shake my head and try my fucking hardest to steady my limbs, but nothing works. "Petey!"

"Huh!" He wakes up suddenly. Panicking, he pulls on his seat belt and starts yelling.

I grab onto his arm. He looks at me and calms down. "Are you okay?" I ask.

He nods, sitting back, closing his eyes, trying to get a hold of his breathing. "What the fuck happened?" he asks himself.

Turning in my seat, I reach back for Ben. He's sitting straight up. His eyes are wide open. I grab his shoulder and shake him.

"That was …" he starts.

I turn around and fall back into my seat. "We should probably get out of the car," I mumble, opening my door.

Because Petey's door is already open, he can get out. Ben, on the other hand, has to climb out of my side.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but when they do, I have no fucking words. The entire trunk of my car is gone.

Gone.

Tossed thirty feet away.

The tree we hit cut the back half of my car off like it was fucking butter. Ben is so lucky to be alive.

The air smells like burned rubber and gas. Smoke from the engine floats into the cold air, up past the top of the trees. The boys are quiet, walking around, rubbing the back of their necks.

With both of my hands in my hair, I kick my door shut and walk away. Ben and Petey stay back. I walk for what feels like forever, and when I feel like my mind is clear enough, I find my cell phone and call the only motherfucker who can help me.

"Dad, I need your help."

.

.

.

I knew it was going to be bad, but I never thought he would hit me.

After I called my pops, he told me to stay put. Since I didn't know where "put" was, I had to walk down the highway until I found a crossroad. That's where my dad met me. I waited for him on the side of the road. He was in his pajamas. He had a baseball cap on his head, Chucks on his feet, and sleep marks on his face. He didn't say a word to me when I got in. He didn't even look at me.

I didn't have to tell him where the car was. He found it by following the tire marks on the road.

He turned the lights off. He didn't turn on the hazards. "If Chief Swan drives by, we're fucked. Fucked!" he roared before getting out and slamming the door with both hands.

The shock of the slammed door re-started the shakes from the accident.

I got out after my dad. Pete and Ben were sitting in front of the car, but were on their feet as soon as they saw him. Dad glared. They stood back.

Dad glared at the Volvo. He stared for five whole minutes before he spit on the ground and took another step forward. I noticed that he stepped on his flannel pajamas every time he walked. My dad pulled up his hat, brushing his hands through his sleep-hair before placing it back on and looking at me.

"Get the fuck in the car," he seethed. We all moved, but Dad told me to stay.

When Petey and Ben were in the car, I stuck my hands in my hoodie pockets and exhaled a long, cold breath.

My dad punched my in the chest.

I fell against the wrecked car.

I didn't have a chance to recover before my dad grabbed me by the front of my sweater, pulling me up to his face. I was coughing, trying to catch a breath.

"How could you be so fucking stupid!" he raged; spit flew from his mouth onto my face.

That was the last thing he said to me before pulling me off of the Volvo and pushing me toward his Mercedes. Now we wait for the tow truck. My dad helped the owner of the local junk yard fight off some old drug charges a couple of years ago. He owes my dad one. Keeping this accident under the radar will be considered his pay-up.

Pete and Ben haven't spoken a single word. They sit in the back seat, silent as the fucking night. I don't know if they saw my dad hit me, but this isn't their fault. It's mine. I fucked up.

My heart won't calm. All I can think about is Chief Swan rolling by and seeing what's happened. He'll keep her away from us. My bad choice would penalize my entire family.

The thought makes me fucking ill.

After the tow truck arrives, my dad helps the driver hitch the Volvo. I think about lending a hand, but decide against it when my dad makes eye contact with me through the windshield when the car is pulled off from the side of the road.

It's totaled. Any idiot can see that.

I text Bella: _I love you so much, baby._

She texts back:_ What happened? Your mom is freaking out. _

I shouldn't have assumed my dad didn't tell my mom. I'm sure she's sitting at the kitchen table now, offing the last of her wine bottle.

After the Volvo is towed away, my dad gets back into the car. He places his hands in front of the heater vents and takes his hat off, throwing it in my face.

He drops Ben and Petey off at Pete's.

The drive home is tense. My mind keeps going back to the way the headlights looked flashing between the trees and the highway. My stomach turns and my eyes water. My chest hurts, not only from the seat belt impact, but from how hard my dad hit me. I feel like shit. I feel like a horrible kid. I feel like a disappointment.

Alice and Bella are on the porch when we drive up, shivering and bundled with blankets over their shoulders. I put my handle on the door to get out, but my dad holds me back by placing his arm over my chest.

"What if one of you would have died? What would I have done if you had been killed?" His voice is low, sad.

"I don't know," I say into the dark car. I look away from Bella toward my dad's silhouette in the seat next to me.

He clears his throat. "You're going to tell your mother that this was an accident. Tell her you swerved to avoid a fucking deer. Tell her whatever you the fuck you want, Edward, but you will not tell her the truth."

"Okay."

"If Charlie Swan finds out—" he begins, looking at Bliss with regretful eyes. Looking like he might lose her, too.

"He won't," I say lowly. "She'll never tell him."

"You sure?" dad asks, already knowing she would never.

"Yeah, Bella would never tell."

_That's our deal. _


	14. You and Me

**We do not own Twilight. But we do own this.**

**Special thanks to Rihanna for falling in love in a hopeless place, Blue Valentine for breaking my heart, and Coldplay for singing about Paradise. Thanks to Kid CuDi for writing the soundtrack to his life, and Bradly James Nowell for creating timeless music before you met your end much too soon. **

**Yelly, this one is for you. **

**LovelyBrutal is our beta. **

**Penny and the Quarters -You and Me: **_When love is real, you don't have to show it. When it is real, then everyone will know it. 'Cause there will be no one but you and me, you and me (youuuu.) Nobody, baby, but you and me (hey, hey, hey.) you and me (My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my.) _

**Chapter 13 – Isabella Bliss**

"You're going to get fat. You're going to get cellulite."

I smile, taking another bite.

"Your teeth are going to rot, and you're going to have bad skin."

I chew, chew, chew, not listening to a word she says.

"How can you eat that shit all of the time?" Alice sits up, pointing to the Twinkie box on the coffee table. "You're going to get diabetes."

I shrug, popping the last bite into my mouth.

"You're a freak, and I'm wrong. You won't get fat, or get cellulite or diabetes, or anything else, because you're a super-human who lives off trans-fat." Alice sits back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I like Twinkies, too, you know?"

I swallow the ending bite, and say, "Then eat one. There's two left."

She scoffs. "Yeah, right. I'm not like you, Bliss, I'll get varicose veins and high blood pressure if I eat one of those."

I lean my head back against the couch and laugh out loud into the air. I hold my hands over my stomach and let my head fall onto her shoulder, where I leave it as my laugh turns into a giggle. "Alice, you're super-fit; you'd never get varicose veins."

She scoffs again. "I'm fit because I board and have a lot of orgasms. Take those away and add in Twinkies, I'd be as big as this house." She lies her forehead against my temple. "You on the other hand do not board, and you do not have orgasms, and you eat like crap. The world is a sad, unfair place, Isabella Bliss."

We're quiet for a while; my head is on her shoulder, and her head lies against mine. Our feet are set on my mother's table; Alice is in worn black Vans, and I'm in pink-sparkle flats. Her knees are scraped and bruised, and mine are baby-soft and unhurt. Alice picks at her nails, and I try to make her stop. She wants to watch Bully Beat Down, and I want to watch America's Next Top Model re-runs.

I win.

Alice and I get in a debate: Which is better, skinnies or boyfriend jeans?

I win again.

We get in another debate: Which is better, dusty blonde or strawberry?

We decide that's mean and we're even, so we both win.

We get in one last debate: Which is better, to have orgasms or not to?

She wins.

"We already had this conversation, Ally." I say, reaching forward for my cherry-limeade. "I'm waiting for marriage or whatever."

Alice scoffs a third time. "You're fourteen, you're too young to make a decision that huge."

I almost spit my limeade out. "I think you have that a little bit twisted." _Besides, I'm not waiting... _

Ally takes my limeade and sucks in a large gulp before saying, "Just because you don't want to do the actual deed before you tie the fucking knot, doesn't mean you can't fool around, baby girl."

_Oh, I know._

"And Garrett is only with Claire because you're frigid."

"Hey!" I smack her arm. "I am not."

Alice smacks me back. "Then let him kiss you."

Dad chooses now to walk in from outside to get something to drink. He takes one look at me and Alice on the couch and shakes his head, saying. "Do I even want to know?"

"No way, Chief Swan, keep walking." Alice holds her hand back and my dad gives her a five before speed walking to the kitchen.

It's Sunday and Dad has the day off. He's doing yard work in the late May noon-sun, and handyman things around the house. Mom's out shopping, and she wanted me to go, but Alice wanted to stay, so I did, too. We've been munching on sweets Alice brought over and watching TV, unmotivated and uninterested in doing anything else.

Things around the Cullen home are tense. Edward wrecked the Volvo last weekend. Alice and Esme don't know the truth; they think he crashed avoiding an animal in the road, but Carlisle knows what really happened. I know.

Edward feels guilty, and his dad is disappointed. They try to hide those feelings and keep them bottled up, and the result is … well, there's a lot more father-son disagreements. And their arguments are so cryptic, Alice and Esme don't have the slightest clue as to why they're fighting. Edward tries to avoid his dad, but he isn't exactly subtle. It was Carlisle's idea to keep what really happened a secret, but he isn't exactly tight lipped.

I try to be as supportive as I can. After Carlisle got home with Edward Saturday night, the entire family stayed up debating whether or not to take Edward to the ER. He refused, of course, but then we all stayed up because we were too wired to go back to sleep. Alice ended up falling asleep on the couch around five in the morning. Esme and Carlisle were not too far behind her. With heavy eyes, I managed to stay awake to be with Edward.

I knew he was hurt. I could tell by his face … and it wasn't only physical.

He followed me upstairs and we went into his room. I helped him take off his shirt, and I noticed the bruise from the seatbelt across his chest right away. I touched it with the palm of my hand; Edward hissed. After he took off his pants, we got into bed. I was afraid to touch him. I was afraid to say anything because, at that point, I still thought he wrecked on accident.

Then he told me.

He said they were lit … they were drunk. His phone kept ringing. Ben was rollin' up in the back. Then they were lost. Then Petey was paranoid. Then they were spin, spin, spinning.

Edward's voice was low and rough in the dark. I reached for his hand and it was shaking. He pulled me closer and closer and closer until the entire length of my body was pressed against his. Then we slept.

The next morning was bad: Edward was too sore to get out of bed, Carlisle was livid without saying why, Esme was still crying because her baby could have died, and Alice was grumpy because she didn't get enough sleep the night before.

I was numb because, yeah, he could have died.

But he's lucky.

He's lucky he didn't kill himself or anyone else.

Edward missed most of the school week. Ben and Petey didn't, though. But even they seemed subdued. I didn't see Ben messing around with any of the girls, and I noticed Petey and Kim hugging or kissing or touching more than once. They kept quiet, and it had a weird domino effect on the rest of the school. In French, all Victoria spoke about was Edward's wreck. She tried asking me about it, but I diverted her questions. She said she hadn't spoken to him at all. I might have smiled.

In Edward's absence, and Ben and Petey's weird calmness, the Sluts were not so slutty, and there were no whispers about my boy in the hallways. I didn't have to hear any rumors or see anything I didn't want to. The exciting buzz about the previous weekend wasn't there because their leader almost killed himself avoiding a deer in the road.

Yeah, that's what he told Esme it was … a deer.

I gotta admit, when Victoria told me all deer should be killed because of how many car accidents they cause each year, I almost smacked her for being so fucking stupid.

"You can't just kill deer, Victoria." I laughed.

But she was dead serious. "I'd rather have the deer dead than Edward."

Rosalie and I shared a look. Rose shrugged her shoulders, and I repeated, "You cannot kill deer because they cross the road, Victoria."

Then she said, "Oh, well, I know Edward's like a brother to you, but he's more to me, little sister."

She gave me twitchy fingers. I wanted to hit her, and I almost did, but the upside to Edward's absence was that he was in my phone all day long. Lucky for Victoria, he sent me a text just as I was choosing a place on her face to smack.

So instead of hitting Victoria with my French book, I said, "Doesn't he call you a slut all of the time?"

She rolled her eyes, and said, "It's a joke, Bella. It's meant as a term of endearment, petite soeur."

"Imbécile," Rosalie mumbled. "Je vous hais, et j'espère que vous mourez."

Victoria turned around in her seat and didn't speak to me for the rest of class. I didn't speak either, because when I checked the message Edward had sent me, I almost died. Two words and everything was changed.

_Birth control. _

"You know," Alice says, pulling me out of my reverie. "I can give you an orgasm if you won't let Garrett."

My eyes pop open, and I look toward the kitchen to make sure my dad isn't within hearing distance. "What?" I hiss, facing Alice.

"We're best friends, I can give you explosions if I want to." She shrugs.

"Alice, shut up." I try not to turn super-bomber-cherry-red, but I think it's too late. The stuff she comes up with sometimes.

"You shave your vagina, right?" Alice walks her index and middle finger down my thigh.

"Yes," I whisper, sinking into the couch. "I cant believe you just said..." I whisper, "vagina!"

She scoffs. "I'm not afraid of your china-muffin, and I'll touch it."

"Alice!"

She laughs loudly. "What? It's what true friends do for other true friends. I want you to feel what I feel, that's all."

Dad walks by with a glass of water at his lips. He side-glances, but hurries out the door. When he's out of hearing range, I sigh in relief. I'm almost certain my dad is afraid of teenage girls, and he leaves most of that stuff for my mom to handle, but he wouldn't be too happy to learn that Alice wants to touch my girl-parts to make me squirm.

I tried to talk to my dad about my period one time, and he all but hung up on me before I had a chance to ask him if he could stop by the store to buy me tampons on his way home from work. That's why when Edward asked me to get on birth control, I went straight to my mom.

The conversation was pretty strange:

"Mom, I need birth control."

"Oh, God, you're only fourteen!"

"It's not like that, Mom."

"Oh."

"I have really bad cramps and heard birth control pills will help."

"Cramps?"

"And pimples."

"You don't have pimples, Bliss."

"But I will."

"I'll ask your dad."

"Mom, Dad is afraid of tampons, he won't understand birth control."

"I know, but I don't keep secrets from your dad."

That's when I started to fake cry, saying, "You don't understand how it feels to be me!"

Mom gave me a funny look and promised to make me an appointment. An appointment that happened the next day.

As of Friday, I, Isabella Bliss Swan, am on birth control.

Well, as of today. Today is my first Sunday.

"Or I can buy you a vibrator," Alice suggests, once again pulling me out of my thoughts.

"You're embarrassing me, stop." I pull on her hair and kick her feet off of the coffee table.

Alice gasps, pulling my hair back. I scream, and as I'm straightening out my curls, she slips her hand under my dress, between my thighs, and grabs my precious-untouched middle.

I scream again.

"I told you I wasn't afraid of your vagina!" She laughs, leaving her hand on me.

I'm trying to get away, pulling on her wrist. I beg for mercy … I beg for her to stop before I laugh too hard and pee my undies.

She finally does. "Fine, but I'm here if you need me." Alice wiggles her eyebrows. "If you know what I mean."

"You're insane." I sigh, crossing my legs.

"And you're a prude."

A half-hour later, my mom comes home and my dad comes in. Alice and I stay on the couch while Mom makes dinner. Edward calls Alice; he'll be here in a half-hour to pick her up. My heart pitter-patters, anticipating his arrival. And when Alice isn't looking, I text him: _Your sister tried to give me an orgasm. _He replies: _Tell her your pussy is mine. _

Five minutes later, I get another text: _Did she really?_

I'll tell him about it later.

Edward shows up just as Mom finishes dinner. He knocks, and I want to run to answer the door, but I remain cool and stay with Alice. Dad lets him in. He's dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a white t-shirt. He has a pair of black chucks on with no socks, and from the look of his hair and the sleep lines on his face, he stayed in bed all day.

He doesn't say hello, instead he sits between me and his sister and changes the channel. Alice punches him in the thigh, Dad laughs, I change it back, and Mom invites Edward and Alice to stay for dinner.

His eyes light up, super-stellar and excited. "What did you make?"

"Chicken Parmigiana," mom answers, wiping her hands off on a dish towel. Her hair is up in a messy ponytail and she has her glasses on, making her eyes look larger than normal.

Edward sits up. "You made it by yourself? It didn't come out of a box?"

Mom laughs. "No, Edward. It didn't come out of a box."

He's the first one at the dinner table and the last one to leave.

.

.

.

After dinner I see Edward and Alice out. Alice has to unbuckle her jeans to make more room, and Edward happily walks with a hand over his full stomach.

"Thanks for letting me come over today, Bliss," Alice says, tossing her bag in the back of her father's car. "I'll see you tomorrow at school?" I nod, and we hug. Alice places her hands on the side of my face and very lightly kisses my lips. "If you ever change your mind..." she starts, but laughs.

Alice gets in the car, and Edward kind of lingers. "See ya, babe," he says lowly.

Pushing a piece of hair behind my ear, I mouth a goodbye.

We both check out Alice; she's face deep in her cellphone, probably texting Jasper. My parents aren't spying out the windows, so I go to him. Edward hooks his elbow around the back of my neck and quickly kisses my forehead.

"I love you," he mumbles.

"I love you," I whisper.

Then they're gone.

Once I'm back inside, I say goodnight to my parents and get ready for bed. After a shower, I lie in bed, reading. Edward and I text back and forth a little, but it isn't until I get a text from Alice that my heart beats a little too quickly.

_That end of the year dance, we're going. _

My very first year of high school is almost over, and it went a lot quicker than I anticipated. It turns out that ditching bathroom conversations and receiving secret notes in your locker will pass time rather quickly. The whole year seems like a a blur, but I'm ready for it to be over.

I love summers.

Summertime means spending days at a time with Alice … with Edward. It means staying up late and beach sand and shimmer-blush and skirts and tank-tops and sun and skateboards and candy and slushies and bare feet and freckles and lip gloss and bikinis and long days … and Edward.

Edward.

And if I have to go to this stupid dance to get closer to summer, then I will.

_Fine, but you're wearing a dress._

She replies:_ Only if you let Garrett finger you in the bathroom. _

I give up and go to sleep.

.

.

.

School is back to normal with the return of their leader. Petey and Ben are as loud and disgustful as they usually are, the Sluts are acting all slutty, and the rest of the school is talking about whatever party went on this weekend.

I'm back to dodging the ladies room.

At lunch, Edward sits on the top of a lunch table and Victoria sits at his feet. They're talking, and they're laughing, and she's happy about whatever he said because she gets up and hugs him. He kind of, sort of hugs her back, but he kind of, sort of pushes her away.

I know I'm not supposed to look, but I can't help it sometimes. And this time Edward looks back, too. The corner of his mouth lifts into a small smirk, but his eyes are guilty. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. Then Garrett is beside me, whispering something into my ear. Edward's face hardens. Garrett touches my arm, and I look away from my secret.

Garrett's asking if I'm going to the end of the school year dance. I tell him I am. He says no one is taking dates because it's not that kind of dance, so we're all going as a group. Only he's wrong, because we can all go as a group, but Alice and Jasper are still a couple, and he's still with Claire, and I'll still be the odd girl out. Even Lauren has a boyfriend, Paul.

Instead of disagreeing with him, I say, "You're right."

When lunch is over, I say bye to my friends and head toward French. I don't see Edward in the halls, but I don't really look for him either. I stop by my locker to switch out my books. I'm noteless, and a little let down, but that's nothing new. It's almost an emotion I hardly feel anymore.

"Hey, Bella."

I turn around at my name, coming face to face with Brady Fuller. He's a senior, and I've seen him around a few times, but I don't know him. I know his reputation, though, a la Edward Cullen.

"Hi," I say, feeling a bit confused.

Brady smiles, and it's so devious I smile back. He's cute with dark brown hair and darker brown eyes. He's tall and fit … and stupid.

"Are you going to the dance this weekend?" he asks.

I nod. "I think so."

He steps a little closer. I smile a little higher.

And Brady probably thinks I'm smiling because he's showing me attention, when I'm really smiling because—

"Hey, Brady, how's it goin'?" Petey leans against the lockers at my right side, and Ben leans on my left.

Brady doesn't seem fazed until he sees Edward leaning back against the lockers right across from us. Wisely, Brady puts a little distance between us. I keep smiling.

"Just asking if Bella is going to the dance." Despite being outnumbered and a little nervous, Brady stands tall, not about to be punked by three sophomores.

"Yeah, she's going," Petey says. "She's my date."

"She's my date, too," Ben adds.

"What about you , Edward? Is Bliss your date?" Pete asks over Brady's shoulder.

"Yeah, she's my date," Edward says with his eyes locked and loaded on the back of Brady's head. His posture is slack, but his hands are fisted and his jaw is tense. He's giving off the impression of being nonchalant, but I know better. He's livid.

Brady turns around to look at him; Edward smirks, daring him to say something.

He doesn't. And after taking a look around the hall, seeing the group of people who have circled around to watch the confrontation, Brady smiles his award-winning smile, tells me he'll see me around, and leaves.

So does Edward, without another word.

"That guy is a loser, Bliss," Ben says, taking my books from me.

Petey and Ben walk me to class; Petey with his arm over my shoulders and Ben with my books. Victoria's behind us, and she tries to talk to the boys, but they ignore her and lecture me on _bad, bad boys_ with _bad, bad __intents_.

"Let us know if he bothers you again," Petey says, kissing my forehead. Ben hands me my books, and they take off after Edward … wherever he went.

In class, Victoria isn't too pleased the boys came to my rescue. She might be more upset that they ignored her while I got escorted to the classroom.

"You'll always be their little sister, Bella," she says. "How fucking annoying, right?" Only, she's not telling me this out of sympathy. I think she's jealous. "I would hate if they did that to me every time a boy tried to have a conversation." She rolls her eyes. "I mean, it's not like Brady Fuller would actually want to, like, date you or something."

Rosalie, who is wearing bright pink leggings, a jean skirt, and a teal tank-top, leans over the desk toward Victoria, and says, "Tout le monde vous hait. Rendre le monde heureux et sauter d'un pont, salope."

I have no idea what she said, but it sounded good, and it made Victoria shut up and turn around.

Rosalie's totally here for the easy A.

She called Vic a bitch in so many words.

After an hour of listening to Victoria sigh and groan, class is finally over. She gets up and puts on her backpack, but she doesn't leave before adding, "It's funny Edward said he was your date to the dance when he's actually going with me."

I leave the classroom contemplating how badly my grade would suffer if I ditched French for the rest of the year. I keep my head up, though. I can't show Victoria or anyone else that they affect me with their words. I smile when smiled at and say hello when greeted. Alice is on the other side of the school, so I won't see her again until later. I think about going into the restroom to hide in a stall for awhile, just to get myself together, but the last time I did that, I left worse off than I went going in.

Right as I'm about to turn the corner, I'm pulled to the side by my elbow.

Edward and I are hidden in the doorway of an empty classroom. His hand falls from my elbow to my hand, where he interlaces our fingers and holds on tight.

"Hey, princess girl," he says, smiling … truly smiling.

"Hey, yourself," I answer, fighting my own smile.

He smells so good and it feels so nice to be this close to him. My turned upside down stomach begins to settle, and my heart beats at a closer to normal rate. With a quick look around, once I know we're safely hidden, I push myself against him, burying my nose in his neck, lifting up on my tippy-toes to be more near.

"I miss you." I breathe, gripping onto his shirt with my freehand. My chest fills up with an ache … I try to push myself closer to him. I bite his throat and clench tighter onto his shirt.

"Are you okay?" He asks, holding me just as tight.

I shake my head. Edward takes a breath and opens up the classroom door, pulling me in and shutting it behind us. The room is unused and dark. The blinds are pulled down and the air smells like dust. There are a few stacked desks in the center of the room, and a teachers desk at the front. The chalkboard is clean and the walls are bare.

Edward's hands are on my hips, carefully guiding me backward. He kisses the side of my neck, along my jaw, and at the corner of my mouth. Like I weigh nothing at all, he lifts me into the air and places me on the wooden desk. It's cold against the back of my thighs, but the rest of my body is feverishly hot.

He opens my legs with his hands, placing himself between them. I hold onto his shoulders as he leans me back, kissing my throat. I hitch my leg around his waist … he lets me. His left hand travels from my hip, up my shirt, and over my purple lace bra. His hips thrust forcefully, spinning the room.

When I'm too loud, he tells me to be quiet. The desk rocks beneath us, splintering and coming apart from lack of use.

His hips move at a steady pace, and slowly, my body begins to tingle; first at my lips, then at my fingers and toes.

He kisses my mouth, sloppy, fast, dirty. Edward bites my lips until I whimper, then he moves down to my chest. He's lifted my shirt so my bra is showing. My hands have fallen down to his hips, where I hold on, trying to guide his movements, because I can feel it. I can. I'm so close to something.

I open my legs wider, trying to get him closer. "Please," I whisper.

We're caught up. The both of us are. The entire classroom turns around us, my head is swimming and my body is awake and roaring. I figure out that I can get more of a tingle if I move my hips with his, so for every stroke, I meet him there. I close my eyes, feeling him between my legs and on my chest. Somewhere in the back of my mind I recognize the sound of the bell ringing; I'm late for class, but I don't care.

I'm almost completely consumed, ready to fall. My stomach is twist, twist, twisted, ready to release and twirl. He's so hard … I can feel it. I can feel all of him, and I want it so fucking badly.

"Please, please, please," I say, circling my myself against him.

"Right now?" Edward asks with heavy eyes and heavier movement. He bites my chest, and I scream out. "Do you have any fucking idea how badly I want to be inside of you?" he asks, right before pulling my bra down and placing his mouth over my bare breast.

It starts—whatever this is. It starts and my entire body tenses. My eyes roll into the back of my head and air catches in my throat. I hold onto Edward's sides and moan into his chest.

It's anticipation for the real deal … starting to detonate. This is what Alice must be talking about. This explosion. It's so close I can taste it. Literally. It's like having Pop Rocks in my blood and effervescence on my skin. Orgasms taste like lemon-mint and tea tree. They sizzle and sparkle and blow up and boil and hold-clench-grip and twist-turn-spin and shake-shook-shiver.

At least that's what it will be like … I can feel it.

But then he stops. But then I'm alone. I'm gasping for air, squeezing my legs together, crying out from the pain of _its_ absence.

"Fuck!" Edward barks, pushing down on the front of his jeans, holding one hand on the wall for support.

My body is intense with objection. My stomach hurts and my eyes water. I feel like screaming. I feel like punching something. And where he was, between my legs, painfully calms, painfully settles, painfully composes.

After giving himself a few seconds to recover, he comes back to me and closes my legs. He kisses the top of my knee and pull down my dress. "I'm sorry, baby. I swear I didn't find you for this shit."

I stare up at the ceiling, trying to clear my head. I don't even realize my bra is still pulled down until Edward pushes it back in place. He corrects my shirt and sits me up. I allow a few tears to fall but don't say anything. He clears them away with his thumbs, wiping my cries on his jeans.

"Tell me," he says lowly.

"I know you were with Bree, and I know you're with Victoria, and I know you've been with Mixie and Charlotte," I say it without crying harder than I already am. That small victory makes me feel a little bit better. "And Victoria told me you're going to the dance with her. She said, _'It's funny he said he's going with you when he's really going with me.'_" I stop for a second. "Rosalie told me she called her a bitch in French."

He laughs. So do I.

"I don't want to be with you anymore," I say.

He laughs again.

"I'm serious. I hate you," I insist.

"Bliss." He sighs.

"You're with those girls, but you won't be with me. I hate you, and I don't want to be with you anymore."

He looks at me. His cheeks are red and his eyes are full of emotion. He sits back on the desk beside me with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I want to go to the dance with Brady Fuller."

Edward's head leans back and he laughs out loud, showing all of his teeth.

"I swear," I say.

"Shut the fuck up, Bliss. It's a rule." He's trying to sound playful, but the undertone is more than obvious.

I jump off of the desk, grateful that my feet are strong and steady. I feel oddly calm and collected, like this may be the most intelligent decision I have ever made. I dust off my dress and straighten out my hair. I look for my bag, and when I find it, Edward kicks it across the room.

"Why did you do that?" I ask, kicking his.

He laughs at me again, so I hit him in the arm. "I'm serious, Edward!"

"Say you promise." He stands up and holds me in place by my arm. He pulls me closer. I try to back away, but he doesn't let me. "Say you promise and I'll think about believing you."

"We don't promise," I remind him.

"Exactly."

I hold strong and stand high. He catches my eyes, leaving us in some kind of staring contest. I don't think either one of us takes a breath. We don't move. We just stare. His hold on my forearm is binding, again reminding me that this coltish posture isn't really how he feels about what I said. There's a message in this firm lock: I'm not going anywhere.

I can say what I want, and try to do what I want, but he has the last word.

He's the first to speak: "I wasn't with Bree, and I've never been with Mixie or Charlotte." Edward releases my arm and sticks his hands in his pockets. "I wouldn't lie to you."

He doesn't lie to me, not about anything else other than this. And this is what is most important, right? Relationships are supposed to be built from trust. But that's a joke. Everything about us is a lie. We're built solely from love, but we're a walking untruth. And as long as we have that, then we should be okay. But what kind of person does that make me if I just accept this answer? Because he is lying. I'm not ignorant. He is so absolutely honest with me about everything else, but this...

"I know," I say.

"People just say shit about me," he lies a little more.

I nod. "I know."

"But that doesn't mean it's true."

"Okay."

"Do you still hate me?" He's pulling me along now. He knows I don't hate him. Edward smirks, and I want to smack him.

"I don't hate you," I say, "but you're no good for me."

He half-scoffs. "Well, it's too late for all of that shit."

I walk across the classroom in search of my backpack. Edward follows me. I keep my head up and my shoulders square. I look over my shoulder, happy that he doesn't seem as confident as I project. And he shouldn't. He should feel bad for being a liar. If he didn't feel bad, then I'd really have something to worry about.

As if I don't have enough.

My book bag is stuck-lodged in the far back corner, covered in dust. I pick it up and groan, pissed that my white bag is smudged and unclean. I'm wiping off dust bunnies when Edward rips it from my hands and beats the dust off with more effort than I was giving.

"Listen to me, Bella," he says without looking at me. "I'm not going to that fucking dance with Victoria. She asked if I was going. I said sure. That's all."

I try to take my backpack from him, but once I have my hand around the strap, he pulls it back. I pull. He pulls. Like a game.

"Princess girl," he says softly. "You can't be upset with me because Victoria's a cunt."

My eyes open wide, and Edward laughs loudly, filling the vacant room with his beautiful sound. Heartbreaking, but beautiful. Bastard.

Edward and I spend the rest of the hour lying side-by-side on the teacher's desk.

.

.

.

The rest of the week flies by in a blur. Not only is the school conscious about the approaching summer, but this stupid dance, which isn't supposed to be a big deal, is turning out to be a huge deal. There are posters all over the walls and a whispering buzz in the hallways about who is going with who. Alice, Jasper, and Garrett insist that the four of us are going as a group, but I'm not convinced. Especially since Claire makes this four a five.

Victoria hasn't said another word about Edward or the dance to me. Well, until today. The bell rang when French was over, and she said, "See you at the fiesta tomorrow, little sister."

Rosalie replied, "That's Spanish, you idiot."

By "fiesta" I'm assuming she means the dance. Then again, who knows.

After our fight on Monday, I've seen a lot of Edward this week. He's been surprisingly clingy, and while it's been nice in a much-needed-suffocating kind of way, it's killing me. It's killing me because it's temporary. After Edward thinks he's redeemed himself, and when his guilt about lying to me subsides, things will go back to normal.

But this week, while he still feels blameworthy, I've received twice the normal amount of letters in my locker, he's been good about finding places where we can hide, and we left after lunch on Wednesday in Ben's new BMW and went to our spot at the beach. I haven't seen him with Victoria, the Sluts, or anyone else, and I know he hasn't been going because we spend our night times on the phone talking about nothing at all.

It's been good. Too good.

"Hello, earth to Isabella Bliss." Alice is snapping her fingers in my face. I come to and smile. Alice smiles in return. "Are you daydreaming about cocks? I look like that when I daydream about them, too."

I roll my eyes and sit back, allowing the sun to warm my face. We're out front, it's after school and we're waiting for Esme to get here to pick us up. The stupid dance is tomorrow, and while Mom wanted me to get ready at home, I convinced her to allow me to stay with Alice. She'll be over sometime tomorrow night to see me off. It's my very first school dance. Alice and I decided to ditch the homecoming and winter formal this year, so my mom is excited enough for the both of us.

"Seriously, B, what's going on?" She sits next to me. Alice is wearing cut-off, holey jeans shorts and a green tank top. Her hair is down and naturally wavy, and her bangs are covering her right eye. Her high-top vans are unlaced and her knees are scraped and bruised.

She still smells like chocolate chip cookies and playtime. Only, she looks different. Not older … but since losing her virginity to Jasper, Alice is different. There's experience in her eyes and change in her expression. She isn't "little" anymore. She knows things. She's felt things. Alice has lived something I haven't, and for us, it's a first.

And I thought I wanted it, but I'm not so sure anymore.

I want it to be honest like it is with Alice and Jasper, and the more I think about it, having sex with Edward would be tainted.

It would be.

And it's killing me.

"Nothing," I say, pushing my legs out in front of me, loving the red-blotched burn I'm getting from the sunshine.

"You're lying, and Brady Fuller is looking at you again. What the fuck is that guy's deal?" Alice stands up, dropping her board on the ground.

She isn't supposed to bring her board to school. She, Jasper, and Garrett have all been warned about the "no skateboards on school grounds" rule, but they don't listen.

Using her foot, she flips her board onto its wheels and rolls in front of me. "Perv!" she yells out toward Brady. He looks up and waves. Dork.

"Dude, I totally saw him and Victoria sucking face on Tuesday," Alice says, rolling by. "I told Edward, but he didn't care."

I smile, re-closing my eyes, aiming my face toward the sun. Not only have I seen a lot of Edward this week, I've also seen a a lot of Brady Fuller. And Alice is right, Victoria was kissing him. I don't know if she did it because he spoke to me, or if she really likes him, but either way it's weird. He's too perfect in a generic kind of way, and Victoria is too wrecked in the leader of the Sluts kind of way. He's too clean cut and preppy, and she's too raw and smells like cigarettes.

But she's some sort of perfect, and I imagine that her kind of perfection is hard to resist.

Even though Brady has been kissing a Victoria all week, he still finds time to follow me around school. He's everywhere I turn, and it's kind of strange. Petey and Ben scared him off again, but he's persistent.

Yesterday I was reading another note left in my locker; I was red-blushing because Edward's mouth can get the best of me sometimes, and the notes he's been leaving me are a little bit dirty.

This note in particular: _The other day, on that desk, when I was between your legs, you made my cock so fucking__—_

I was reading, too caught up to look around, but I was facing my open locker with the notebook paper in my hands, and after _fucking_, there was nothing because the letter had been taken. I spun around, thinking for sure it was Ben or Petey, or maybe even Edward, but it wasn't. It was Brady. He held the letter above my head. I didn't even try to reach for it. My heart was racing, but I was mad. More than mad, I was nervous he might read it.

"Go to the dance with me," he said.

I looked up at the paper, then back at Brady. "Can I have that back?"

"If you go to the dance with me."

I crossed my arms over my white top and smiled. "I'm going with Petey, Ben, and Edward, remember?"

His smile matched my own. "What's up with those guys, anyway?" Brady handed me the note back; I shoved it into my backpack and walked away.

_Hard. _

After _fucking_, it said _hard_.

When Esme shows up, Alice gets in the front and I get in the back. Esme asks where Edward is. Alice says she doesn't know, and I shrug, because neither do I.

.

.

.

"Ready to get your dance on, baby girl?" Alice is standing above me, jumping on the bed. I smile, but hide myself under her comforter. "Oh, come on you sad, angst-filled teenager, lighten up. Wanna take a shot?"

I pull the blankets down below my eyes and nod.

Turns out I slept all day. I slept all night, too—after I turned off my cell phone, anyway. Edward never came home after school yesterday, but I know where he was. Or I think I do. He said he went home with Pete, and Rachel was on another one of her Friday night benders. I don't doubt the truth in that … but when he called and I heard Victoria in the background, I decided I was done for the night, turned off my phone, took a Tylenol PM, and crashed out.

It's now three in the afternoon.

Downstairs, Alice pulls the tequila from her father's liquor cabinet, and I take a lime out of the fridge before slicing it into fours. She's pouring us a double when her mom saunters into the kitchen. Esme is the epitome of stunning in a red dress and black platform heels. She's high-class and knows it.

"What are you girls doing?" She laughs, pointing to the liquor.

"Bella's in a funk, Mom," Alice says, clearly annoyed that her own mother hasn't noticed my obvious "funk."

"Well, in that case, carry on." Esme smiles, winking. "But don't go overboard." Then she's gone.

Alice and I take three shots. I hardly even wince. I'm getting better at this stuff.

After eating two Twinkies and a peanut better and jelly, I convince Alice that I am not in a funk, and that we should just start getting ready for the dance. She believes me, and the tequila did help, so when she's in the shower, I turn the power back on my cell phone.

And it's a good thing I'm buzzed, because Edward was not happy last night.

Text after text, voice mail after voice mail; my guy was evidently drunk and out of his mind. One message he's cursing at me, swearing he's coming home to kick down Alice's bedroom door, and the next he's sorry and he loves me, and _please just answer, baby._

After making sure Alice is still in the shower, I lie on her bed and call him back. He picks up after the first ring.

"I said I was sorry," he mumbles.

I twirl a piece of hair between my fingers. "That's how you answer the phone?"

"You tortured me last night, little girl."

We're silent.

"Did you get my voice mails?" He asks, shuffling like he's getting out of bed.

"Yes."

"Ignore the bad ones, but pay extra attention to the ones where I say I love you and I need you and I want you and please stop breaking my heart." His voice is light and humorous. I can hear him peeing over the phone. "I'm holding my dick, Bliss. Should I stroke it?"

I laugh loudly and it feels so good. "Edward!"

We're silent again, but this time it's different. Unstressed.

"I'm sorry, okay, baby girl?" His tone is low and sympathetic. Finally.

"Okay."

"I love you. I'll see you in about an hour."

After I hang up, and after Alice gets out of the shower, I get in and wash away all of my bad feelings. I was in a weird mood this week. But I think love does that.

Love is temper-tripping.

I watch soap suds slide down my arms and legs, and fall into the drain. The smell of lavender and lemons spike my already giddy mood. I brush my teeth in the shower, and think about Edward. I think about how much he loves me. I think about the voice mails and the text messages he sent me last night. I think about how crazy and sporadic he is, and about how crazy and sporadic they were … I think about how passionate he is, and about how passionate the messages were.

I'm crazy for loving him, but God am I passionate.

Once I'm rinsed and clean, I get out of the shower. I look at my body in the mirror before I dry myself off. I'm not so one-dimensional anymore. I have shape and a little bit of body. My thighs aren't so skinny, and my hip bones aren't so straight. I have a nice arch from my lower back to my bottom. My waist has thickened … and my breasts have grown.

My breasts.

Edward saw them. He put his mouth on me.

Smiling, I wrap myself up in a pink towel and brush out wet my strawberry-blonde hair. There's a knock at the door; it has to be Alice.

"Hold on," I say, not quite ready to leave my Edward-filled bubble.

Another knock. And another.

"What?" I pull open the door, expecting Ally. But it's Edward.

He looks tired with sleep lines on his face and messy hair. He isn't wearing any socks in his Chucks and his white t-shirt is wrinkled. He smiles and rushes in, closing and locking the door behind him. He kisses me. He lifts me up and sets me on the bathroom counter. His hands are on my thighs, sliding under my towel until they rest and grip and hold onto my hips.

He's kissing my neck, and I'm telling him not to leave a mark, and he's telling me to shut the fuck up, and he's sucking on my neck. Edward pushes himself between my legs, and I can feel the softness of his basketball shorts against my bare middle. I bite his shoulder to keep from making a noise and circle my arms around his neck. He's pulling his hands away from my hips and unwrapping my towel.

I'm nervous. I shift. I squirm. He's still sucking my my neck. He's smiling.

"It's okay," he whispers, pushing the towel down.

My entire chest is bare, and he can see me—he is seeing me.

My eyes are closed, and he says, "Open them, Bliss." So I do, and he smiles.

"My pretty girl," he says softly. "My princess girl," he whispers into my ear. Then he touches me. His thumb brushes over my nipple. I suck in a breath and hold onto his arm. His touch feels like I have a million little butterflies fluttering their wings beneath my skin. Edward is so tender, and so mellow, and so conscientious. I feel like my heart has tripled in size. This touch crosses lines. This is new—this touch.

But that's all. That's all he does. After that, he drops to his knees and places his head in my lap and closes his eyes. I run my fingers through his hair and tell him about things that are not important, like how Alice and I took shots, and how I took a sleeping pill last night, and how my mom is making me wear this stupid yellow dress to the dance.

He tells me I look good in yellow.

After a little bit he stands up. I pull him down, and he lays his forehead on my shoulder. I hug him, and he hugs me, and we stay this way for a long while. Then he's kissing my neck again, but it isn't like before. These kisses are small and soft and important for being important and little reminders.

Then: "Holy shit, Bliss, you have a huge fucking hickey on your neck!"

I push him away and fix my towel and look in the mirror. "Edward!" I whisper-yell. I turn and hit him in the chest. "You did that on purpose."

Edward moves my drying hair to the side, inspecting his illegal mark. "You can hide it if you leave your hair down."

Our eyes meet in the mirror. "Thanks a lot, jerk."

"You're welcome, princess baby."

.

.

.

"I'm not wearing them." Alice is pouting, sitting in front of the mirror Indian style with her arms crossed over her chest. She's wearing a tank top and no bra. She has concealer under her eyes and huge curlers in her hair.

I'm beside her, unrolling her hair, smoothing a flat iron through the too curly ends.

I declined the curlers, even though I really wanted them. Having my hair up was no longer an option thanks to Edward and his possessiveness.

"They're just shoes, and it's only one night." I smile at her in the mirror.

Esme straightened my hair for me, and I think she saw the hickey, but she didn't say anything. She only winked and went on to the next piece. My hair looks Esme-perfect, slick and sleek. My make-up is a little on the heavier side, but it looks natural with bronze blushes and light-pink lip gloss.

"Sneak my Chucks in your purse, and I'll sneak you a different dress in mine," Alice says, getting up and rushing to her closet.

The yellow dress my mom is demanding I wear is a little on the conservative side: it's ugly. Cotton, and lacelike, the dress is knee length and cap-sleeved. I would have liked it two years ago, but now…

_I wish they would let me grow up. _

Alice throws a black tube top on her bed; I sit with the straightener in my hand. "This," she says, digging deeper. "And this," she says, turning around with a dark colored mini-skirt. "You will look so hot!"

I touch the skirt; it's stretch-cotton and will fit so tight, but I love it.

"Can I wear your shoes?" I ask.

"Yes! God, yes!" Alice squeaks, shoving her Chucks in my purse.

.

.

.

Alice looks like a wobble-walking new born baby deer coming down the stairs in her black platform wedges. She's stunning in her baby-pink dress, but the way she's walking is laughable.

"Oh, come on, it isn't that bad," Esme says, snapping a picture of her daughter. "You better fucking believe I'm framing this one," she says.

My mom's eyes still widen with Esme's language. I just shake my head and meet my friend at the end of the stairs. This dance is supposed to be casual, but between my mom and Esme, you'd think it was the freakin' prom. And when Jasper and Garrett show up, it only gets worse.

We take pictures in front of the fire place, with Carlisle, with our moms, with each other, on the porch, with Jasper and Garrett, just Alice and Jasper … just me and Garrett.

"Mom, I'm not his date," I insist.

"It's cool," Garrett says.

I don't ask about Claire, but I worry about Edward when Garrett puts his arm over my shoulder and my mom and Esme snap away.

"Are you sure he isn't your date, Bliss?" Esme asks, checking Garrett out.

I shake my head and complain about the flashes, so grateful that Edward left with Petey and Ben an hour ago.

"Fine," Esme puts the camera down. "Lets go."

Carlisle and Esme are driving us to school since none of us are legal to drive by ourselves yet. Lauren, Leah, Claire, Paul, and his friends are meeting us there. But before we are out the door, Alice makes sure to push my over-sized purse into my hands. Then I watch her stumble out the door to the car.

"Have fun," Mom says.

"I will."

"Call me if anything happens." She kisses my face, smudging my make-up.

I smile. "Okay. I will."

"Your dad is on-duty, so he'll be around."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "Sure, Mom."

Everyone is in the car. They're waiting on me. So I assure my mom that everything will be okay. I tell her that Alice and I have a ten o'clock curfew, even though a time hasn't been set, and that I'll call her as soon as I get home.

"We might even be home early if it sucks," I say.

That earns me a mini-lecture on my language and _appropriate ways to speak to your mother._ She says, "I never taught you to use that word, so don't use it with me."

I agree with everything she says, and when my mom is finally gone, I squeeze myself into the back seat with my four friends.

"Did you just get in trouble for saying sucks?" Alice asks, but everyone is waiting for my answer.

Carlisle is looking at me through the rear view mirror, and Esme has turned around in her seat. Jasper's eyes are soft and his smile is supportive. Garrett isn't looking at me, but he's listening. And Alice, who was sitting on Jasper's lap, crawls over Garrett and places her head in my lap. She settles her right foot on the back of her dad's seat, and the other is pressed against the glass window.

"She said she didn't teach me to talk that way," I mumble, feeling embarrassed. I mean, I was just reprimanded by my mother in front of all of my friends. She's making me wear this dress and these flats. I have more guidelines and rules than I can remember. I feel suffocated, like my mom and dad are always watching me.

_Let me be my own person!_

My parents still enforce a bedtime, and I'm not allowed to be on the phone after eight. Mom gives me crap about how much make-up I wear, or how short my skirt is. She doesn't let me eat sugar or drink soda. Anytime I ask to spend time with Alice, they complain about me never being home. And now I can't speak freely without being censored.

Their restraints are too tight, and I'm claustrophobic. I can feel myself protesting against their hold. It's a pressure in my chest and tension in my jaw. It's the anger that runs cold through my veins every time I'm told what to do, or left feeling untrusted. It's in the pity in Carlisle and Esme's eyes, and in every curse word Alice and Edward are allowed to say.

It makes me want to scream.

But I don't.

I have a part to play.

"Well, that's dumb," Alice says, as we reverse out of the driveway.

By the time we get to school, I feel better: Alice complained about her shoes; Esme worked to convince Alice that heels are a girl's best friend; Carlisle gave Jasper and Garrett a speech about gestures and politeness; I sat back and soaked it all in.

After giving Carlisle and Esme a quick kiss good bye, Alice and I run to the school gym, pass the entrance, and head straight to the restroom. The music from the DJ is thump, thump, thumping through the restroom walls. Thankfully, the ladies' room is empty, and the first thing Alice does is kick off her shoes. I slip out of my flats and step into her platform wedges, already feeling more like myself.

When our shoes are exchanged, Alice and I hold hands and jump up and down.

She helps me unbutton the back of my dress, and when I'm left in my underwear and bra, she slips the black tube top over my head.

"Be careful for my hair," I say, making sure it doesn't lift over my neck.

"Ugh, shut it," she jokes, holding open the skirt for me. I step in. She pulls it up.

The skirt is tight, and a lot shorter on than it looked on the hanger. My bra straps are showing, so Alice slides them down my shoulders and tucks them in my top.

"Holy shit, Bliss, you're fucking hot." Her eyes are broad and coruscant. She honks my boob before bending down to tie her Chucks.

But I can't stop looking at myself. I look older. Way older. I look how I feel … sexy.

Once she's in her shoes, Alice starts brushing her hair back into a tight ponytail. "Help me," she says, struggling to get it tight enough. When her hair is back and clinched, Alice darkens her eyeliner and brightens her red lipstick, then she hands it to me. "Trust me," she says.

I put on more mascara and a little more eye shadow; I want to leave my hair alone, but Alice tells me it needs to be bigger. She doesn't really know what she's doing, teasing the back with a round brush.

It gets stuck.

"Alice!" I shriek.

She pulls on the brush, and I panic. She laughs. "Let me find someone!"

I manage to pull half of what is stuck in the brush out, but the other half gets pretty tangled. So I stand there in front of the mirror with too much make-up on and too much skin showing, and I laugh.

I laugh because it feels so fucking good to be able to do this at all.

Alice shows up with Lauren and Leah, and thankfully, Lauren is able to out-maneuver and unwrap the brush from my hair without pulling too much out of my head. Brush-free, Lauren teases my hair and sprays enough hairspray to give us all lung issues. When we're all teased, bumped, and polished, we take a few pictures from inside the restroom and hide our bags in the back.

The gymnasium has been transformed, but it's still a gym. It smells like basketballs and P.E teachers. The music is loud and bodies are moving, dancing, and socializing. I see a few of my teachers hovering, breaking up too-close couples and eating stale cookies, but other than that, this looks like it can actually be fun.

Alice and I are definitely over dressed; most are in jeans and t-shirts. Except the Sluts, who look as slutty as ever. Victoria is with Brady, which is still really weird to see. Mixie is sitting on Dimitri's lap, and Charlotte is hanging all over Ben, and Edward, who is alone, sits right in the center of them all.

They're fucked up.

That much is apparent in their too-loud laughter and over-exaggerated movement. Victoria is flipping her hair, nonstop. Mixie is laughing overly loud, and Kim is being exceedingly clingy. I can tell Edward isn't sober just by looking at him: his eyes are lazy, his hood is up, and his smile is indolent. He doesn't see me, but I see him.

Until I don't anymore.

"Come on, Izzybelly Bliss!" Alice yells over the music, taking my hand and leading me out to the dance floor.

I'm not a great dancer, and I definitely can't keep up with Alice, but I can move and rock and dip, and in these shoes, anything is possible. I feel like I'm on top of the world. I feel like the entire room is staring at me and Al. I feel good—free—without restriction. So I step, step, step, and sway, sway, sway to the beat of the music, laughing at how good Alice is. Soon Lauren and Leah are with us, and we dance in a little circle while blue, green, red, and purple lights flicker across the gym. One song changes into another and another and another. My head is still light from the shots we took earlier, but I wouldn't mind taking another.

Alice is with me. Her hands are on my hips, and when the music allows, we go low, low, low together.

We're dancing to a song about falling in love in hopeless places, when I see Edward and the boys staring at us. His hoodie is off now, and he's sipping on a bottle of water. He says something to Petey, who says something to Ben. Then Edward winks.

I flip him off and keep dancing with Alice.

But then Jasper and Garrett are with us. I ask Garrett where Claire is, and he says he doesn't know. He asks me if I want to get some air. I look around for Alice, but she's dry humping Jasper on the dance floor, so I say sure.

I take about three steps in the direction of the exit before I feel Edward behind me; his hand is on the back of my neck, and his fingers are pushing into the mark he left on me earlier. "Dance with me," he whispers into my ear. I can smell booze on his breath and pot on his clothes. But, a lot like the first night we kissed, this is different. He takes my hand and his skin is burning warm. He laughs into my hair and spins me around.

I'm stunned, searching his eyes for something that tells me he knows what he's doing, and he's not just high. Edward pulls me forward until I'm pressed against his chest. I can feel his heart racing through his t-shirt.

"What are you doing?" I ask, looking back at Garrett, who looks a little confused himself.

"Dancing with my little sister's best friend," he says loudly, over the commotion. "Isn't that in the job description of the older brother, little girl?"

Glancing over Edward's shoulder, I spot Alice dancing with Petey and Ben. She is out-loud laughing and having the time of her life while the boys dip her back and spin her between the two of them.

In the far corner, where Edward was sitting earlier, the Sluts are huddled together, staring and whispering amongst themselves.

"Don't worry, baby girl," Edward says, spinning me in a circle. When he pulls me back; my back is pressed assistant his chest. "You're trying to kill me with this skirt, right, princess?"

I smile, spinning back out. "Maybe."

Edward clutches his heart over his shirt and leans his head back, pretending to die with a smile.

The song changes to something a little slower, a little older. Edward solo-steps, snapping his fingers, and it's the funniest thing I have ever seen in my entire life. I laugh until I cry. I laugh until I can't take it anymore and snap my fingers with him.

"My dad taught me that shit when I was younger," he says, holding me close, referring to the old-fashioned dance moves. The slowest song of all is playing, and I wasn't sure if Edward and I should dance together, but he promises it's okay. I don't pass it up.

Surprisingly, Alice isn't slow dancing with Jasper, but with Petey. Victoria is dancing with Brady, and Garrett finally found Claire. And I'm with Edward.

Me.

"I liked it," I say, setting my chin on his chest so I can look at his face. A few seconds pass before I ask, "What are you on?"

He shakes his head and says nothing. But then he finally says, "Ecstasy."

"Oh," I say.

"It's harmless … except, I want to touch you so fucking badly."

"Then come home," I whisper.

"Can't," he says right away. "But I'll be home later."

We move in little circles, and I can feel the weight of the week pressing down on me: the pressure of being with Edward, or not being with Edward; my parents; lying to Alice; Victoria … it's all too much, and stupidly, I start to cry.

I have to hide it, though.

My hands shake and my jaw hurts. Tears spill over and run down my cheeks. I hide my face in Edward's shirt and try to collect myself before someone notices.

"Baby," Edward groans. "Stop."

"I'm trying," I say.

"Try harder." I'm not surprised by the anger in his tone. He does have his little sister's best friend crying on his shoulder.

"Don't go, Edward." I wipe my tears away, willing them to stop. He holds me tighter, steadying my trembling frame. Then his hand is on the side of my neck. Then his fingers are wrapping into the roots of my hair. Then he's gripping and fisting and pulling my strawberry-blonde, and his lips are right beside my ear. Then he says, " I love you so fucking much … but I have to go."

She's waiting for him.

Victoria isn't dancing with Brady anymore; she's waiting for Edward at the edge of the dance floor in a navy blue maxi-dress. Her heels are in her hands, and her eyes are glassy like Edward's. She isn't smiling, not until he looks at her.

Edward doesn't say anther word to me before stepping away. He straightens out his shirt and pats Petey on the shoulder as he walks by. When he reaches Victoria, Edward puts his arm over her shoulder, and once the rest of their group has joined them, they leave. Together.

.

.

.

It's the last day of school, and I could not be happier. The last bell has rung and the hallways are full of students trying to get that last signature in their year books and up-tempo attitudes, because tomorrow, we don't have to come back to this place.

I'm on my way to clean out my locker.

I told my mom I was driving home with Alice and Esme, but Esme and Carlisle left early this morning for a long business weekend in New York, so Ben is driving us home. I was halfway to the car before I remembered all the crap I forgot to clear out.

"Take your time, Bliss. We'll wait," Ben said, pushing Alice on her board. Edward and Petey were already at the car.

So I ran back. I watch my feet as I move as quickly as I can. My white, gem flip-flops flop, flop, flop as I speed walk, in a rush to get this over with. I pull my backpack over my shoulder and move a piece of hair over my ear.

I see Victoria at the end of the hallway, hugging Mixie, like they won't see each other tonight. "But it's different," Victoria cries.

Losers.

"A tout à l'heure," I had said when French class was over; adding in the "bitch" after I passed her desk.

At my locker, I drop my bag and circle in my combination. The first thing I see is a folded up piece of notebook paper. I smile, reaching in for the secret. One word: _summertime. _And it means more than anyone could ever imagine.

I shove the note into my pocket and start going through old folders, even older reports, and lost papers. I make a face when I find a long forgotten apple. I find a trash can and dump everything from my locker into the can. I'm almost done, ready to book-it, taking down pictures of me and Alice, and me and Lauren, and me and Garrett and Jasper and Alice, and me and Edward, Alice, Ben, and Petey, when I feel the tap on my shoulder.

I turn around with a handful of photographs and sigh when I see Brady. "What's up?" I ask, picking my Jansport off of the ground. "I thought Seniors had their last day yesterday?"

He smirks, and it's kind of, sort of odd, because he looks different. He's graduated. He isn't supposed to be here talking to me. He looks older. Like, grown.

"I had to pick up something from a teacher," he says.

"Oh." I don't want to be rude, but I have to go, and this guy is lame. I didn't see him and Victoria together again after the dance, but I saw him with others. Not that I'm interested, because I'm definitely not, but he has to know I'm smarter than this. I take the last picture down, one of me and Alice at the dance, and zip it up in my backpack.

"So," Brady begins," I was wondering if—"

He's cut off by the commotion at the end of the hall. We both snap our heads in the direction of the noise; I smile. He doesn't.

Alice, Jasper, and Garrett are on their boards, only they get off and kick back against the lockers, waiting. Edward, Petey, and Ben keep walking my way. I straighten my backpack and wait for what is about to happen.

Brady takes a few steps away from me. And for someone who isn't afraid of a few sophomores, he sure looks like he might be.

Edward is about ten feet away, closing in quickly. His hair is a little long, I notice. He's wearing a pair of knee length cut-off black skinny jeans and a white v-neck, and his black and white Vans squeak on the tile floor as he walks. His black Yankees hat sits back far on his head, so his entire face is showing. Edward's hands are fisted and his eyes are focused.

He steps right past me, hitting Brady in the mouth in one fluid motion.

The sound of Edward's fist hitting Brady's face is loud and blunt. It's solid.

Brady falls to his knee, and Edward hits him again. This time the sound is louder because Brady hits the ground.

I look down the hall; Alice, Jazz, and Garrett are waiting with their skateboards in their hands, keeping watch.

"Alice!" I shriek, stomping my foot, a little overwhelmed. "What the fuck is happening?"

She shrugs.

Edward has Brady lifted by his shirt. "How many fucking times do I need to tell you to stay away from her, motherfucker?" He lets Brady drop, causing another skin-on-surface sound. Brady curls himself into a ball, and Edward starts to kick him. And if he was mad before, he isn't anymore. He's laughing.

I don't know what to do. I'm stuck still, utterly stricken. I know Edward fights often, but I've never seen it … I've never heard it. The sounds are vicious and relentless. I hear Brady lose air in his lungs; I can see when his lip splits open; I can hear him ask Edward to stop. When Ben and Pete jump in, I take a step forward, although I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. Only Edward sees me.

"Stay the fuck back, Bliss," he says. His hat falls off; I run forward and grab it.

They keep kicking him, and I feel like I should do something, but I don't want to compromise Edward's place in this battle. I'm the only one aware he's fighting for my honor. To everyone else he's doing this to Brady because he wouldn't stay away from his little not-sister.

I always thought it was really stupid when a girl jumps in the middle of a bunch of fighting boys, anyway.

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to keep myself from freaking out over the blood draining from Brady's nose. This is a part of Edward I never get to see, and as sick as it may sound, I welcome it. I love knowing it's for me. I love that no matter how hard he tries to shield me from his other side, our worlds just clashed and I'm a witness.

This passion … I love it.

It isn't until Alice whistles from down the hall that Petey and Ben stop kicking Brady. Alice, Jasper, and Garrett are rolling down the hallway on their boards. Alice yells out, "Principal Banner is coming!"

The three of them roll by me; Alice is blowing the biggest bubble gum bubble ever; it pops, sticking to her nose and chin. Ben is trying to pull Edward off of Brady, but he struggles against his friend and continues his assault. Petey is suddenly with me, slamming my locker closed and picking me up.

"We gotta go!" He starts running down the hall after Alice and our friends with me in his arms.

I hold on, looking back. Ben is able to pull Edward away, and all three of them are on the floor. Edward stands up just as Principal Banner enters the hallway at the opposite end and yells, "Hey!"

Ben starts to run, lagging to wait up for Edward.

"Petey!" I shriek.

"He'll be fine!" he yells, laughing, looking over our shoulders.

Edward is bent over Brady, pointing his finger in his face, saying things he'll never tell me about, and just before Principal Banner reaches them, Edward takes off after me and Petey, and Ben.

He's quick to catch up, and together, we all run out the hallway doors. The sun hits us hard, and I have to squint my eyes. Alice is skating ahead of us, laughing way too loudly through the parking lot. Petey almost falls. I scream. He laughs. We keep running to the car. And right before we get there, I look back again. Edward is smiling. Then he winks.

Petey puts me down and opens the car door. Alice, Jasper, and Garrett are already in and stacked and squished. I go to get in, but Edward tells me to wait up, getting in first. He pulls me in, and I sit on his lap. Then he yells to Ben, "Hurry up and drive!"

We all gravitate to the left as Ben peels out of the school parking lot, and when we're clear of school grounds, we all take a breath before we erupt in a bubble of nervous, adrenaline-filled laughter. Edward circles his arms around my waist and tells me to sit back. I want to rub my fingers over his bloodied knuckles, but I don't.

Instead I say, "Way to start the summer, Edward."

And he says, "You have no fucking idea how good it's going to be, Bliss."


	15. Alive nightmare

**We do not own ****Twilight****. We're ornery, scandalous and evil. Most definitely. **

**All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer, Kid Cudi, Rivers Cuomo, The Weekend, Wiz Khalifa, The Violent Femmes and my delivery boy, Mr Jones.**

**TeamBella, I love you like don't cry, you liar. **

**LovelyBrutal is our prereader/beta/love. Thank you for all that you do, babyblue-purplestars. I love you like Lily and Jack. **

**To everyone reading and taking this chance, thank you. **

**Kid Cudi - Alive (nightmare): **_I'm a beast in the night. I'm on the prowl, hoping to find some light. You call it heaven and I do it for the same. Nothing wrong, I'll be feasting on something brave, a sexy lady who's pure. She has the cure. I hope she can find a man within the beast. I hope she saves me from the curse I have to be. I hope she figures out a way to save my soul, yeah, to save my heart... _

**Chapter Fourteen - Dusty**

It's the Fourth of July and I'm sitting on my parents' roof, listening to them go at it. My friends are calling and texting, but I don't really feel up to going out.

_"How could you not ask me about this? How could you not even tell me?"_

_"Why? So we can do this? She's fifteen for Christ's sake. We—"_

_"Fifteen!"_

They're arguing about Alice for once, not me. I don't know what the fuck she was thinking, leaving that shit in the bathroom instead of her dresser or something, but Dad found Alice's birth control today. He can't really be surprised. I don't fucking like it either, but c'mon. Mom's right. She's being smart.

_"It's just a precaution, Carlisle. Climb down off your fucking high horse."_

_"It's too much. We give both of them way too much freedom—"_

_"Well it's a little late for that now isn't it?"_

The accusation in her tone is crystal-unmistakable. They don't know I'm listening. They think I left with Ben half an hour ago.

There's a glass-crash sound in the living room, a drink hitting the wall. I don't flinch. It's a familiar sound, and I know Dad threw his drink. Mom would never think of wasting perfectly good chardonnay, even in anger.

_"No, it's not. I'll put a god damned lock on her fucking door. Let me see that little shit around here again. Let him come over. I'll show you fucking precaution."_

Mom's quiet for a beat. She doesn't need to raise her voice.

_"You wanna start laying rules down now? So she can run away? Hmm?"_

The attorney is the quiet one now. The opportunity to push isn't wasted on Esme Anne.

_"So they can run away together and she can scrape by in some ice cold one bedroom apartment while he's out sticking it to his secretary?"_

Dad curses, loudly. I push my hands through my hair. I close my eyes, leaning back on my elbows and think about how love forgives, but life doesn't forget. Especially with kids.

I'm my dad's quick temper and my mom's sharp tongue. I'm the worst of both of them. I try to remember I'm their best, too. I'm his determination and her warmth, but neither of those feel as strong as the negatives that make me up. I feel like I'll never know how to love right because of them.

Ben texts to tell me I'm gay.

Victoria calls me again.

And the only person I want to hear from, the only person I love enough to even try to be careful with, my heartbeat, sends words of assurance and reassurance.

_I love you, boy_, her text reads _I love you like you don't even know. I love you always._

_No matter what._

_No matter anything._

Bliss makes my chest feel tight with hope, too full of faith for me to even breathe right. She shines optimism into my whole outlook, but her light doesn't match with anything else inside my life. She doesn't match.

But I'm so into her. I'm wrapped up in and around forever with her.

I texted Bella when I first climbed out here because I was fucked up on all these fighting sounds. My whole body hurt. I needed her.

I shouldn't text her at all. I shouldn't be with her the way I am. I know, but I didn't even hesitate.

_Fuck 18, leave with me tonight._

Her response was immediate.

_Come get me._

I smiled at the words when they showed, but I can't even bring myself to say anything else to her right now, because I know she'd let me. She'd let me steal my mom's car and sneak her out onto the road. She'd let me take her away, in a hot little flutter-beat.

I swallow, opening my eyes up to the sky. The sun's just left. Everything's dark, but kind of glowing around the edges, summertime nighttime. I dig my right heel against a rough spot on the roof.

Bella shouldn't forgive me like she does or trust me like she does. I know she knows it's wrong, but she does it anyway, and I knowingly allow it. I let her damage herself because I'm that deep into her.

Nothing should be this messed up.

_"That's right." _My mother's voice is pure, freezing resentment two floors below. _"Walk away."_

The first firework pops open in the night, miles to my left. I look over, across the other rooftops and everything is florescent blue for a few seconds.

Petey calls me.

Victoria wants to know where I am.

More colors detonate the sky. I light a cigarette. Bliss texts me from the fair she's at with my sister._ I wish you were here_, she says.

I should keep her from _here_. I should want her to stay out with her friends. I should stay away.

But all I want is closer, all the time.

I drag on my cigarette. I give in. I fucking require her.

_Come home, strawberry baby._

.

.

.

I pull my left shoe on and reach for my right, trying to ignore the knots in my chest.

My birthday was Thursday. I spent the day on the field with Ben and Pete, and Bliss was here when I got home, just like I knew she would be.

Lying on her stomach next to my sister on the living room carpet, she was so much sunkissed skin in a navy tank top and tiny - tiny - little white shorts. Her sandals were off and her arms and legs were tinted light gold-pink. She looked warm to the touch. I fucking love what the summer sun does to her skin.

I tossed my hat at the back of Alice's head. B looked over her shoulder while my sister sat up to throw my hat back.

"Happy birthday." Bella's tone was one of friendship, and her smile was totally innocent, but for just a second, her eyes were all mine.

She smiled through dinner. So did my mom, sister, and dad. I stayed in that night, and when Bliss finally made it down to my room, it was exactly what I wanted it to be, and it made her so happy.

I took everything off her body but the little white lace-cotton covering her center. Having her so exposed underneath me was almost too much. The light coming from my desk lamp across the room made her skin glow sunset warm, all pale-cream-peach-curves and deep-dark-pink-tips. I traced the undercurve of her breasts with my thumbs and brushed back and forth over her nipples. I watched her, watching me, loving her with light touches, circling both of her little nipples until she was shaking and panting, and pulling at me.

I covered her with both of my hands and kissed every stretch and dip. I let her pull my shirt off, and when I pressed my palm into the soft small of her small back, lifting her closer so that our stomachs touched, her head lolled back and her mouth fell open. She gripped my arms with her fingers and squeezed my hips with her legs—she made the fucking prettiest sound.

I'm already so inside her heart and her head, that in that moment, everything was so real feeling, like I was all the way inside her. She arched up for more contact, so I pinned her hips under mine. I rocked against her softest spot and felt how ready she was through our clothes.

I dug my fingers into her and brought our bodies completely against each other. I covered her mouth with my left hand, buried my face in her shoulder, and had to bite to break skin just to keep from taking her. I heldher to myself and focused on the warm-hot press and slide of her body and mine. I dug deep, deep, deep for control.

It's getting harder, denying her, carrying control for us both. Every single one of my sensesare telling me she's ready, and I know she's grown in a lot of ways, but she's still so fucking young. What we share is pretty far from innocent or pure, but this part still is. Being inside her is going to change _everything_, and I know once this is gone, there's no getting it back. Ever.

So, I kissed and touched and thrust until neither of us could bear another second. Out of breath and focus after I stopped, B continued to cling to me. She loved the feel of my bare chest against hers. She wanted to sleep on top of me, stomach to stomach, heart over heart, face in my neck and trembling silk-soft legs wrapped around my hips.

I let her. Feeling her skin on my skin, the light warm weight of her body on my own under my sheets was the best birthday present ever.

I pull my right low-top on. Not bothering to tie either shoe, I tuck the front of my shirt into my cut-offs and remember how good she felt Thursday night. How good we felt together.

Things are nice like that lately. There's something about summertime. Everything feels good and turns out right. It's all day ball and beach sand, and bonfires. Sunburns and sleeping till noon, and blunt cruises on back roads, and coming home to love almost every single night.

Sometimes she climbs up onto the roof with me. She'll letme stretch her out under my handsand kiss her in the moonlit breeze. Sometimes we're so worn out by the heat and freedom, we'll almost snooze through both of our alarms. Sometimes we're quiet and talk with only our lips and fingertips. Sometimes, we're painfully still.

I cross my carpet to grab my gray hoodie. Leaving it unzipped, I drop my NY hat far back on my head and breathe out.

All the way out.

Bella's parents let her stay here more often in the summer, and God fucking knows I'm thankful, but her walls have been up all day today. Even though we made a rule last night about birthdays and not being mad, even though she knows it's pointless to be upset, she's been guarded since we woke up this morning. She's been braced and unfree feeling. She understands, but she's kept herself blocked off.

June and July are full of easy-lit days, but this is not one of them. Today has been pretty far from easy.

I stayed here Thursday yesterday, after Pete's cousin sold me the old Continental for a quick couple grand, I went out with the boys, but I came home. I spent the night in my own bed, with baby girl.

I shouldn't need an excuse or a reason to go out. I don't, but my friends are throwing me a party tonight.

I tuck two joints I rolled this morning into my cigarette pack. I drop my wallet and my phone into my back pockets.

I hate it when she leaves with Jasper and Garrett. It frustrates me to no end ... but what can I say? What can I do? Those are her friends. These are our lives. I have to suck it the fuck up and bite my tongue, and hold it all inside, too.

I open my door and head to the bathroom. I can hear Alice's stereo, and her and Bliss laughing over Weezer's blue album. The sound is like warm comfort in my knotted tight chest, but I'm thankful their door is closed.

She didn't ask me not to go tonight, but she doesn't have to say a word for me to know. Which is good, because we've barely spoken all day. I know, though. I heard it in her voice when she said good morning this afternoon in the kitchen.

Hours before that, early in my bed, when she asked what I was doing tonight and I told her, I expected a fight, and I expected tears, but she just nodded. I expected pleading and pouting at some point, but she's kept herselfcompletely shielded and out of my reach.

I brush my teeth and wash my hands. Alice's door opens just as I step into the hallway. What I see is nothing I came close to expecting, or ever even guessing. My heart feels like flipping its middle finger and giving up. It would. It would stop altogether if it wasn't suddenly double-beating all my blood straight to my dick.

Bella has on this little sea-foam blue,one-piece, tube-top and shorts thing. Her hair's pulled up high, her shorts are so short, and there are white bikini top strings tied around the back of her neck. She's tapping something out on her phone, not bothering to even look up.

"Where the fuck are you guys going?" I keep my voice carelessly steady, even though this isn't how it's supposed to be at all.

"First beach night swim!" Alice pushes my arm, tightening the drawstring on her black board shorts. "Leah's sister's taking all of us."

Which means Jasper will be there. Which means his fucking friend will be there, hanging out with my brand new bikini-clad girl, all night long. It takes exactly every ounce of self-control to not reach out and shake Bella.

My phone rings in my back pocket as the two of them step past me. I ignore it. Bella lifts her shimmer-dusted lashes for half of half a glance. I see the strength she calls up inside herself to deal with my choices, and it pierces me where I stand.

I head to my room, but I can still hear them laughing in the bathroom. Everything about the whole situation makes my skin chill and my chest clench up.

I'm immediately irritated. She gets right the fuck under my skin and scratches on purpose. And the fact that I have no ground to stand on only serves to push me from frustrated to furious, because I trust her. I know she won't let anyone else touch her. I know my resentment is unfuckingfounded, but that just makes it worse.

This isn't how we work.

I ignore another call and enter my sister's room. Even as I grab her shoe and take it downstairs, I can't believe I'm resorting to this bullshit. I stash Alice's new shoe on the top shelf of the coat closet. I have to get Bella alone for just a minute.

I light a cigarette by my window and wait without patience. It takes my sister entirely too long to realize her shoe is missing.

I listen to them, looking around downstairs.

_"Just wear your Chucks," _Bella tells her.

I close my eyes and clench my fist. Anger burns the pit of my stomach.

Alice insists she wants to wear her new Saucony's, sothey have to find it. They take a few more minutes. I'm reaching for my phone when I hear Bella's feet on the stairs. It's an easy sound to recognize. Every foot to carpet-covered step is intentionally measured, a little bit gutsy, all surreptitious.

Flicking my cigarette outside, I'm at my door, opening it, and pulling her in before she even knocks. I wrap my hands around her upper arms and hold her to the back of it.

Her love-slighted eyes don't shy from mine. She stands tall anduntimid in her courage.

Two can play this game.

I raise my eyebrows. "Growing up, little girl?"

The blue-green fire in her eyes flares. Her silence spits kerosene at my burning nerves. I tighten my hands and harden my hold. _Let her tell me not to leave a mark. Let her try to leave—_

My own anger guts me. I glare down, intoher. "Why are you doing this to me?" I ask lowly.

Her whisper is closer to a hiss. "Not everything is about you, Edward."

I start to shake my head, but I shake her instead. Just once. Hard. "Tell me this isn't," I dare her, fucking wanting her to say it. I pull the white strings around her neck roughly, undoing the bow. "Tell me this shit isn't exactly for me."

Bella stares right back into my eyes, like I'm the one that started this fire, and I know she's past asking for anything. She wants to _tell_ me not go, because that's the solution. It would be better for her heart and my brain, and we both know it.

Her eyes rage, but she just presses her pink-glossed lips tightly together. She looks like she wants to scream and hit me, and demand I see things her way. But she doesn't. Her eyes are deeper and more defiant than that. She's desperate to remain strong. So we both just stand there, locked and stubborn, wasting the few seconds we have together.

Alice hollers from downstairs. "Got it, motherfucker!"

Bella doesn't move or speak, or even blink, but I see her put her game face back on. I feel her go from mine to theirs, the rest of the world's Bliss. She breathes out through her nose and buries all the acid hurt in her eyes deep away, out of sight and reaches up to retie her top.

Alice is on the stairs.

With her white strings back in a bow, Bella opens my door behind her back and looks at me for one more second.

I want to tell her to fucking stop, to open herself backup, becauseshe's perfect exactly how she is, even though she's jealous and angry, and suffering. I want to tell her that her rawness is fucking flawless and I crave it. I want to tell her that her sun-freckles are my favorite part of summertime, and that she's my home.

I should tell her to go and have fun, and when she's tired and had her fill, _I'll _be here, waiting with open arms and a welcome-warm touch.

I need to tell her I love her, and that love is enough, and all that matters.

I want to tell her _don't._

And _I won't._

We'll stay here or run away, or do anything else, but I don't give in. And neither does she. With a glance that's as sharp as it is scalding, Bella turns and leaves.

I roll through the instinct to punch the door frame. I don't do it, because after two steps, she turns around and looks at me.

My stupid stubborn heart skips. I hate it.

"My mom says I have to come home tonight," she informs me without a trace of regret. "I won't be here when you come back."

My stupid stubborn heart cracks apart like a wineglass against a wall. I slam my door in her face in an effort to block the sound out, but it doesn't work. So I kick my desk chair across the room.

It breaks, but it doesn't help.

.

.

.

In less than an hour, I pull into Ben's driveway. Normally, he'd drive, but the '64 is fucking cherry-dope and everyone wants to ride. With an ivory-cream leather interior, spotless deep maroon, almost black paint job, and suicide doors sitting on 24s, the old Lincoln Continental feels almost too good to be true. But sometimes people take what they can get. And yesterday, Pete's cousin, Easy, was willing to take as much cash up front as he could, as soon as possible.

You don't ask questions when people do what they have to do to get out. You help if you can, or you fuck off. Lucky for Easy and I both, I keep a box of savings stashed away.

Dad was pissed when I came home with it. But afterone look from my mom, and two seconds in the driver's seat, what could he do except pay the rest and let me keep the car? My parents won't restrict me or my sister too much; they're afraid to. The car is freedom and they don't want to make the same mistakes their parents did, and they both know it's too late to start now.

I turn the music down and roll my shoulders back. I check my phone, knowing before I even look that there's not going to be anything there from Bella. Leah showed up five minutes after Alice found her shoe. I haven't seen or heard from Bliss since. So, I shut my phone off before returning it to my pocket.

She does this shit to me. She decided this.

I think about ditching the party for the beach and making Garrett count his teeth in the sand, just to show Bliss I'm the monster in charge here, not her. But Ben comes outside with a grin on his face and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black. The party needs me, and I need it.

So what? I'm seventeen. This is how it's supposed to be.

We pick up Kim and Pete from her mom's house and I trade Pete the open bottle for the blunt he brought. With my first inhale, I turn my heart and conscience all the way off, and turn _House of Balloons_ all the way up.

The sun's been down about an hour, but its heat is still sticking to everything. We ride with the windows down. The July air smells like just-cut grass and hot asphalt, chlorine and ice-cream. Fireflies are fast asleep and the cicadas are buzzing loud. When we pull up, Mixie's aunt's, or uncle's, or someone's porch is packed full of easy-grinning people.

Inside is just as packed. Air conditioning is blowing cool, but the living room is crowded-warm and the laughter is high. Syncopated percussion and heavy beats thump through sweet smoke and unimportant sun-touched and a little bit sweaty. Everyonesmiles and wants to bring it in. My friends and I are far from the youngest or oldest people here, and I don't recognize every single face, but I'm surrounded on all sides with hugs and happy birthdays.

Vic spots me from across the front room. She's in the doorway leading to the brighter-lit kitchen, standing on the toes of her scuffed up Docs, in a hot-pink dress. She waves and starts making her way over. I'm only halfway into the jam-packed living room, saying hi to Jake when she shoulders her way through to me.

_A dress. Who the fuck does she think she's kidding?_

"Hey, birthday baby!" She smiles high as she reaches both arms out.

I meet her eyes and extend my hand, offering her the scotch instead of the contact she's seeking. She takes it. I knew she would.

I think about First Beach again, but someone turns the music way up. I blink and Kim's on my left. My arm is loose around her, and I'm telling Jake about the Lincoln.

"C'mon!" Kim says over the melodic-electronic beats. She tugs my arm, and I turn my eyes to where she's pointing. Pete's waving me to the kitchen with his left hand and lifting a bong in his right.

I take my bottle back from Vic and leave her for my friends. In a shape that only vaguely resembles a circle, we pull scotch and smoke, hit after hit under the florescent kitchen light. Tanya and Irina bring out gas station doughnuts with seventeen candles stuck in them.

I blow them out. People I know and people I don't all cheer. Ben jumps on my back, pushing my hat down over my eyes. I stumble to stand up straight and walk through the crowd, just as blind as I am indifferent.

I'm laughing. Everyone is.

I pull my hat up and we're in a dining room. I swallow bigger drinks and breathe in deeper lungfuls. I blink and I'm outside, showing Dim the '64. I blink again and I'm on the back porch lighting one of my joints and passing it to Jake.

I blink again and I'm back in the crowded living room, relaxed in a wingback chair with a construction paper crown on my head. It's from Kim.

She'd been trying to put it on me for a while and I kept dodging and laughing. She kept jumping and trying.

"Let me put it on you! It's your birthday crown!" she insisted, rosy-red cheeked and laughing loudly over the music.

I laughed, too. "Tell me I'm king," I told her.

She hesitated for about a second. "Petey's king," she said, smiling at him over her shoulder in a drunk blip of sincerity.

I lowered my head and let her drop the paper crown on it. I smiled. She was drunk as fuck, and so was I, and it seemed to make her happy. So now I'm sitting in this green high-back chair, with this crown on my head that looks like it came out of the back of a coloring book. The fifth of scotch in my right hand is half empty and my left hand is over my stomach.

On that same side, perched on the arm of the chair, is Shirley Temple.

That's not her name. Her name's Siobhan, but she's got these red-red, like candy apple red curls around her baby face. They make her look like Shirley Temple, at least fromwhat I remember Shirley Temple looking like when Mom used to try to make Alice watch little girl stuff.

_Siobhan_. Ben told me about her last week.

_"She'll let you put it anywhere."_

She plays with the sleeve of my hoodie, the edge of it, by my pinkie where I've got a safety pin clipped. It's Alice's. I used it to clear a bowl last week and just haven't given it back yet…

I ignore Siobhan. She smells like sugary-sweet sex. I can barely stomach it. She leans close, like she's going to tell me some kind of secret.

"You wanna go somewhere?" She brushes the backs of her fingers over my turning stomach, through my tee-shirt. Johnnie Walker swims through my veins like a flame.

I'm hazy between bored and annoyed. I take a drink.

Siobhan touches her nose to my ear and I feel hot, like I'm burning up and didn't realize till just now. She takes a breath to say something, but I don't want to hear it.

"Why?" I ask before she speaks. I slouch further back into the chair so she can't reach my ear anymore and I remove her hand from my stomach. I move intentionally. Now she has to say whatever skank-ass shit she wants tosay out loud.

She gives me a confused look as I pull another drink. Her deep-set, dark brown eyes open wide in surprise, like I've crossed some sort of line by calling her out, by daring her to own up to her play.

"Why what?" She asks.

_Shirley Temple is a fucking rocket scientist. _

I tilt my head and look right at her. "Why do you want to go somewhere?" I ask plainly, shrugging my shoulders like I'm the one who doesn't understand.

She looks around the party. She's thrown off her game, and when she starts to attempt an answer, she stumbles over her words. So, I help her out.

"So we can fuck?" I ask, still looking right at her.

Shirley Temple blushes and looks at her feet. She tucks candy red curls behind her ear. "Well, I mean... If you—"

I shake my head. Still bored. Further annoyed.

"I don't really want to," I say over the music. I look around all the buzz-blurry faces. Charlotte catches my eye. She's talking with a group of girls, but obviously paying more attention to what's going on where I am.

My high spins in heavy-slow motion with my drunk.

I blink and think,_ if Siobhan let Ben put his dick in her ass, Catholic school skirt and all, how far will she go?_

I look at the girl next to me. I point to Charlotte and watch Siobhan follow my aim. "Fuck her," I say easily.

"What?" Shirley Temple sounds baffled and disbelieving, but I see her, looking at Charlotte. I can see her thinking about it.

"I'd rather watch you fuck her," I explain, taking another drink. It doesn't burn. I wish it did.

Siobhan looks where I pointed again and thinks about it some more, or at least pretends to consider it for a few more seconds. She slinks off the arm of the chair then and goes right up to Charlotte.

I breathe out and lift my hat to push my hand through my hair, disappointed it was that easy. I'm left with my nearly empty bottle and I see the devil in a pink dress at the bottom of the stairs.

Her dilated eyes are empty, begging anyone anywhere to fill her. She looks like she'd take anything. Like needy evil. Like bottomless dark. She looks like hopeless unlovability. She makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

So I look away.

My head tries to swim, but it can't even do that. As I stand and move, my focus sinks slowly but so surely closer and closer to the bottom of the ocean.

I smoke my other joint in the '64 with Petey.

I blink and I'm back in the living room, holding Ben upside down for a keg stand.

I blink again and I'm in the front yard by myself with an unlit cigarette between my lips. My bottle of Johnnie Walker is gone.

I blink again and I'm in a bathroom doorway upstairs, watching Charlotte and Shirley Temple dyke out in the shower.

The clear curtain's pulled wide open and Charlotte's got her lips and fingers slide-pressing everywhere she can reach. Siobhan's trying. She's got her mouth on Charlotte's neck and both hands on her breasts. Her eyes are closed. The water slips down her back in weak-red streams, tinted by her soaked candy curls.

People around me laugh and holler and whisper obscene shit. Siobhan dips her right hand between Charlotte's naked legs, touching and opening and pushing her fingers in the same place my dick has been.

Charlotte arches and cries out.

I'm not even hard.

I blink again and I'm breaking into a liquor cabinet that is exactly like my dad's, pulling the Chivas out and chugging two pulls straight from the overpriced bottle. I turn and look, and call for Pete.

I blink and he's there. He holds his mouth open and I pour a double down.

I turn and leave the bottle in Kim's hands. I don't remember giving it back to her, but my construction paper crown is on her head, lopsided to the left.

I blink again and I'm in a different bathroom, washing my face with cold water, listening to somebody mumble "fuck, fuck, fuck," over and over.

I open my eyes. The bathroom light's not on, but there's dim night light coming in through the window. I'm alone. The person mumbling "fuck, fuck, fuck," is me.

I blink again and I'm on the floor.

It's my fucking birthday party and I'm on a stranger's bathroom floor, all by myself.

I don't know why, but I think about the feel of Bliss's cold toes on my legs, between my sheets. I think about the way she stretches out and curls back up. I think about the sound of her yawn when she first wakes.

My eyes burn. My chest hurts. My vision dissolves everything around me into shapeless shades of colors that bleed together. I want to be sick. I want to go home. I just want it to be over.

I open my eyes and I'm still on the bathroom floor, but I'm sitting up, thinking about love.

My eyes still burn, but my chest has gone from painfully missing to tight with frustration. I hang up on Bella's voicemail and rub my closed eyelids with the heels of my hands.

Love is sorely fucking difficult.

She's the answer to everything and she won't even answer. She's being stubborn and spiteful and selfish, and I don't care that it's smart on her part. This kind of distance, the kind she puts between us, is tormentful.

Love is doing nothing to stop our spiral.

Love is perpetuating.

Love bought a white bikini just to fuck with me tonight and it worked.

Love is learning by example, just like I did, and she's becoming clever-cruel with me, but what can I do? I try so hard to keep her from this. I knowI'm supposed to, but love is foolish in her self-destructive determination. She's the only thing in my world that isn't poison, but she's hell bent on showing me how strong she can be.

I'm trying so fucking hard to save her, and in a house full of people, who are here to celebrate my existence, not a single one of them is doing the same for me.

I blink and I've got my hand on the door handle.

Love's got me bent-twisted, disjointed and infuriated.

Love doesn't know how good she has it. Love should be thankful.

_Love._

_Love has me so fucked up._

_"Love..."_

The devil's voice sounds far away. It's breathless. Weightless. It doesn't even sound real.

I start to blink, but I can't bear lifting my eyelids. I clench my them shut instead and grip with my hands. I grip so hard my knuckles fucking ache and I hear the devil whimper.

It turns my stomach.

I shake my head. I grip even harder.

The devil whispers, "I love you..."

I freeze inside her. I force my eyes open and Victoria's there, underneath me.

Naked.

Shaking.

Spun.

Her eyes are heavy-half-closed and glassy like she's about to cry. Really cry. She's rocking her hips and I feel her. I really feel her for the first time, and she's about to come. Really come.

And she just told me she loves me.

"Edward," she whispers.

I move with a rush that blurs my perception and forces my movements. I back away and discard the condom in the bathroom trash of whoever's bedroom we're in. I don't turn on the light. I don't even look up. I can't get my shit buttoned and buckled fast enough.

I'm dizzy. I can't feel the floor underneath me when I step back into the room.

"What?" Victoria asks. I avoid her stare, but I can hear her working everything she's got to cover the shake in her voice. She sounds small. I feel fucking sick. "I'm sorry. I won't..." She stops, starts, stops and starts again. "I didn't mean it. C'mon..."

I shake my head. I need to get sick. I pat my pockets for my cigarettes, my wallet, _my phone_.

My heart splits like a crack of thunder all the way through me.

_I'm so fucked._

_I have to call her._

_I have to go home._

_I fucking need to be home._

The devil's voice, so broken by hurt, grabs my attention and spits ice chills down my back.

"Fucking say something to me, you piece of shit."

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. This is so all fucking wrong—_

I look over and Victoria's black hair is tangled and sex-pushed, higher on the left than the right. She has somebody's blankets pulled up over her chest, but I can see her bare shoulders. Under her sunlight burned, sweat-shining skin, her bones vibrate in her defense.

_I am a piece of shit._

Not saying anything, I move quickly around the bed. I grab my jacket and my hat. I want to go to the bathroom and throw my inside-out stomach up, and wash my skin off, but more than anything, I just want out. I need out. I can't breathe in this room.

I feel her eyes on me, waiting for an answer. Everybody wants answers.

I don't have them.

"Go home, Vic," I tell her quietly, facing my hat forward and pulling my hood over it. I don't say anything else, and I don't turn around after I open the door.

The hallway is loud with bass beats and there's more smoke than clean air, but my lungs gasp for it. I breathe in what feels like gulps for a few steps and pull my balance together at the top of the stairs

I don't know how I make it down.

The living room isn't half as full as I remember it being. It's like an entirely different world down here now. Pete and Kim have disappeared, and Ben's passed out on the love seat with his head in Tanya's lap. Other people have paired off and are talking quietly with drinks they won't finish and eyes half-closed. Everyone's winding down.

Everyone, except for Mixie.

I can't see her, but I can hear her, cracking up behind some nearby closed door. She sounds hoarse, but carefree-upbeat. She sounds wide awake.

Coke-happy—like she couldn't give a fuck about anything, even if she wanted to.

I blink slowly as I bring the cigarette I've been holding up to my lips. WhenI reach into my pocket for my lighter though, it's not there. It's not in either of my back pockets either. I have my wallet. I have my keys. I have my cigarettes. I don't have my lighter.

Or my phone.

"Fuck," I mumble under my breath. I don't want to go back upstairs. I don't fucking want to, but I have to. I can't not have my phone.

On the second step up, gravity blurs my balance. I blink and remember being sick by myself on the bathroom floor. I remember Bella's phone going straight to voicemail. I remember _"I won't be here when you come back,"_ and her telling my sister to just wear her Chucks instead.

And I want to tear the world apart.

I shake my head and square my shoulders, taking the steps faster and steadier. I just want to get my shit and get out, _and fucking Bella—_

A year ago, she was still crying little girl-baby tears and it's a tough call, trying to figure out which is worse. Bliss crying is the most messed up thing there is, but then there are days like today. No tears, but she shuts me out, and it fucking cuts.

And nothing gets any easier. Everything just gets more distorted and more difficult the older we get.

At the top of the stairs, I turn right. The steps under my feet are warm suddenly and I remember just taking them.

It's easy with Vic. I didn't even have to say anything to get her up here. She just knows. She gets it because we're sort of the same. It's simple. Thoughtless.

But when I get to the room, the air suffocates me as soon as I step inside and it burns to breathe.

Without thinking about things I know deep down are wrong, I search. Dropping down to my knees, I look under the bed. Panic tightens up my chest.

I don't think Vic would fuck with my phone, but what do I know? I know she's insane, so maybe she would. She could take it just to fuck with me if she wanted to, with no other reason necessary. She could see everything between me and Bliss, and destroy five worlds without even knowing it, without even caring. And that's not even counting love's or my own.

I push the mattress off the rails. My hood falls back. I'm up again and sort of tearing through shit. I look everywhere. Twice. Panic goes from tight to dangerous.

I throw the pillows off the bed, so caught up I don't even hear Dimitri walk in.

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing?" He laughs, walking through the open door when I turn to look. He has holes in the knees of his jeans and his hands are in his pockets.

"Hey," I say, distracted. I look behind the headboard, and I open the nightstand drawers, even though I know I wouldn't put it there.

Dim sits down in a wicker chair across the room and starts telling me this story about Jess. We're both in this room, but I'm absent, searching, wading through puddles of Johnnie Walker to remember the last time I had my phone. I separate blankets from sheets and drag my hand down my face.

_If Vic has—_

I can't even think about it. I'm so angry. I'm nervous as fuckand I'm so fucking mad.

"So, Jess doesn't even care," Dimitri's still talking behind me, but he sounds sidetracked. "She looks right up at Banner and tells him to get fucked. She's fucking wild, man..." he keeps talking. I exhale into my hand. I look around on the dresser some more. I keep looking until he speaks again. "Hey, man."

I throw the blankets back on the torn apart bed and turn to face him. He has two white lines cut up on the glass of a picture frame, angling them in offering. "You want in on this?"

I lift my hat up with my left hand and push my right through my hair, trying not to think about how fucked everything could be.

My phone has to be here somewhere. It has to be.

"Yeah," I say, pulling my hood back over my hat as I walk over. "Hey, call my phone?"

"Yeah, sure." Dim smiles as he hands me the rolled up Ben Franklin and reaches into his back pocket.

While he makes the call, I crouch down over the cedar chest that the frame is sitting on. The picture is obscured by the lack of light in the room and my own darker shadow. I don't breathe—I don't dare blink—I don't even think.

Just like I've seen Dim and Vic do, I press my left nostril closed with my left fingertip and put the bill to my right. Starting at the end of the first line, I inhale with zero indecision.

My blood rushes like a fast-burning fuse toward gunpowder.

I switch nostrils and do it again.

My chest detonates like the sky on the Fourth of July.

I blink and stand up straight, and it feels like the whole world comes up with me. My head's tilted back and I've got the tips of my fingers to my nostrils. It hurts and it consumes, and the burn is terrifying, but it's not physical, the fire. It's devouring, but it's from inside, behind my eyes and up and down the back of my throat.

I feel like a heart attack.

I feel sky high like God and measureless.

I feel like living, breathing, hard-heart beating, white-hot fire.

I breathe in deep through my nose to hold on the rush, to the pyrotechnics blowing up behind my eyes and inside my ribcage. For a second I'm blind and deaf to everything but the feeling of absolute, unclouded, uncultivated energy.

I blink but nothing goes unclear. I don't miss a thing. I feel strong. I feel like pure fucking ability.

I expected the powder itself to burn, when and if I ever did it, but it didn't. It doesn't. It just rushes, fast and hard. I know shit about blow, but my whole body tells me it's what snorting pure power must feel like. I'm easily ten times higher than I've ever been or could even imagine being. I'm high as the fucking summer sun at noon on the hottest day of the year.

I open my eyes and they're watering a little. Dim's laughing, so I do too. He has his phone to his ear. His pupils look huge. I wonder if mine are.

"Hey, shhh, shhh, shut up," he says, still laughing, but then I hear it, too. I hear my phone ringing and I actually, physically feel my heart fall from my throat.

Following the sound to the bathroom, I blink twice but still, nothing blurs or breaks to black. My steps are steady and my phone is on the towel rack, right where I left it when I went to get Victoria because Bliss shut her phone off.

_Bliss._

My heart beats her name through my veins, loud and sure and unmistakable. I need her.

Pocketing my phone, I walk out of the bathroom and past Dim. He stops me just as I do, though. "Here, for later or whatever," he says, handing me a folded and burned closed corner of cigarette cellophane. There's a rock in it, just a little smaller than my pinkie fingernail.

In my head, I tell him I'm good, and I smile, and I keep moving, but in this moment, in real life, I say "thanks, man," and bury it in the bottom of my front right pocket. I feel it with every one of my steps; I'm aware of it. I'm more aware of all my steps than I've ever been before.

I feel like walking potential, like intensity personified. I feel fundamental and primitive, spotless and plenary. I feel righteous and un-fucked up, and more upright than I've ever moved on my own two feet.

Outside is every bit as different from inside as downstairs was to upstairs. I feel thermal inside with heat to spare, but the night breeze is cool on my calves. I want to step out of my shoes and run. I feel like I could run all the way to the sun and it's not even up yet.

It's strange at first, when I get in the Lincoln. So many faces sift through my recent memory. My pulse beats, harder and harder in the enclosed space. I feel like I can hear it echoing off the seats. I drive with my left hand and press my right to my chest. I press hard and I can feel my heart racing an unsafe beat.

Fear freeze-drips down my back, burning with capability that radiates through my muscles. My heart is pumping too hard and I'm breathing too quickly. I feel too strong, too big, too important for my body, like I can't contain my reason for existing. There's a terrible, chemical taste on the back of my tongue, like crushed aspirin and Lysol, and my chest feels so clenched up and full of beats—I consider calling 911 more than once.

But I don't, because at the same time, that same muscle is beating love's name again. My arms hurt to wrap around her and my dick is painfully hard. With my left hand still on the wheel, I press my right hand down over myself and swear to fuck I can feel my pulse there.

I want my girl. There's nothing else. Nothing else matters. My heart knows and wants her, and it'll calm for no one else. She shoves me straight to the edge sometimes, but she's the only one who can pull me back. Only she soothes me.

_I need her. _

I have no idea how much until I look around and realize I'm on her street. I need her so much my hands and feet brought me here without ever consulting my heart or mind.

Four blocks from her house, I turn down a side street and drive five more blocks. When I put the car in park, my conscience doesn't even argue. It can't. It wants her just as severely as every other part of me.

I grab a stick of gum for the taste in my throat and pull my hood down a little further around my face. I zip my jacket all the way up and dig my hands into its pockets, then I'm up and out of the car.

The late night air takes some of my heart-thunder from my ears. I still feel its rhythm everywhere, but my pulse goes from storming to steady andvibrating. Led by pure purpose and total determination, I keep to the shadows and cut through dark yards. I make the simplest, straightest, shortest line I can from where I am to where love is.

It isn't until I'm three houses away and I spot her dad's cruise r that the reality of what I'm doing starts to filter through.

But it's like it doesn't even matter. It's nothing. It's thin paper and I'm burning.

I'm need-led by my sorest and hardest working muscle. It's gone from beat-pulsing love's name to demanding it. It won't settle for anything less than Bliss and the closer I get to her, the more out of control it becomes. There arestill walls between us, but I can feel her force the second I step foot into her mother's yard. I glance upand I know without any idea why or how, where I need to be.

I've never seen it. I've never been allowed in or had a reason to be in my little sister's best friend's room, but I know without knowing how, that her room is in the back left corner of the house.

Love is like that. It's intuition.

Love is heartbeat-buzzing in my hands and electric-vibrating through my veins. Love is following meaning to find your significance. Love brought me here and I know, even as my brain starts to doubt my abilities and question my actions, love is worth these risks and worth every law I'm about to break.

Her mother's front porch is too well lit to step onto, so I walk extra cautiously around the house, where I know the side door is, the one that opens to the kitchen. It's covered in shadowy dark, and as I come to stand in that dark, in front of the door, my heart starts beating loud again. It's relentlessly fast and all I can think about is remaining soundless. I have to be fucking silent, because there's not a doubt in my mind that the chief keeps a loaded shotgun close to where he sleeps.

I know, not just because Charlie's a cop, but because my dad keeps a gun close too.

I know, because if protecting Bliss was my actual job and not just my sacred-secret requirement, I would too.

The thought of lethal protection doesn't scare me away, though. It's just more paper and I'm still burning, more uncontrollably every second. The fact that I'm risking my life, and therefore hers, and so many others with it, only adds to my desperation, reminding me to be quieter and be more careful. I'm thankful on some level that Renee and the Chief protect Bliss so well, that they've taken care of her all this time, before they brought her into my reach. I'm grateful to them for keeping her safe and for nurturing her with wholehearted love and such careful prudence, but she's not _just theirs. She's not even theirs. She's mine, and I need her right now._

I glance around the fast asleep neighborhood and back to the door in front of me. I think about opening the safety pin on my sleeve and picking the lock, but when I touch the handle, concentrated capability rushes with my pulse. The lock feels like it'd be beyond simple to break with one hard push.

So, I do.

And it does.

And I almost can't believe it. With one step, I've broken and entered, and there's no going back.

Closing the kitchen door, I look around and let my eyes adjust to the darker-dark. I listen for movement, but the Swan house is silently asleep. There's not a sound save for the cool air blowing from the vents, the refrigerator hum and my own heart, buzzing beats so fast they sound like electric echoes in my ears.

I don't linger. I swallow hard and move from the kitchen to the living room. Moon and street light filter in through the ivory curtains, barely lighting my way. I listen with all my senses and press my lips closed, trying to concentrate on my breathing. I head straight for the stairs and hope to God they don't creak.

With my hood still up over my hat, my hands in my hoodie pockets with my right tight around my keys, I take the first step up.

I blow a breath out and take another step.

I feel more than wide awake as I move. I'm beyond alert.

My hands curve into tighter fists as I climb higher. My dick aches and strains and throbs heavier with every step closer. My jaw flexes and I clench my top teeth with my bottom ones. I straighten my backbone like a razor blade and step steadily faster, closer.

My lungs clench in on themselves and make breathing hurt. They command quickness, comfort, relief—Bella.

I take the top step and know right away, immediately and without a thought, which door is hers.

Love just knows.

Love feels the pull that's impossible to defy.

Love _is_ the pull.

Head down, eyes up, I take the few steps past the bathroom, right past her sleeping parents' open door, straight to her closed one.

My heart beats and burns a riot against my ribs. It hurts. It physically fucking pains me how much, how badly, how deeply I need her. It's like starving and suffocating and scalding in fire all at the same time.

_Quiet_, I keep telling myself. _Just be fucking quiet._

Everything within me shakes. I take a breath and hold it.

Her handle is cool under my fingers when I pull them from my pocket and reach, and her door opens silently and effortlessly, just like I need it to. I don't breathe again until I've closed the barrier between us and the rest of the world behind myself.

Even her air is consoling.

Blinking without losing an ounce of awareness, I bring my surroundings into focus. Bella's room is all girl. It's night-light lit by the little lamp next to her bed. Its glass shade is frosted, casting subtle yellow-white outlines around everything that's cloaked in pitch dark. Her desk and her dressing table, her dresser and her bookshelf, everything is neat and looks untouched, uncluttered and all hers. So hers. Everything is middle-of-the-night-subdued and cut out of soft light. Everything is clean looking, innocent and unsuspecting, including her.

More than my whole body—my breath, my soul, all the parts of me that think and feel, and yearn, and love, and fight—everything that I am is captivated. Her existence takes hold and fastens me completely.

I am hers, just as surely and utterly as she is mine.

I step slowly closer to where I can make out love's own glowing outline. She's fast asleep on her side with her bent knees pulled up to her stomach. She has light purple blankets pushed mostly down, resting just below her waist, and she's wearing my baseball hoodie.

My smile is unrestrainable.

Soft strawberry-blonde locks have slipped out from the hood she has pulled over her head. One arm is under her pillow and the other is folded along her chest. Her hand is tucked under her chin and covered almost completely by my too-long-for-her sleeve;baby's little knuckles just barely peek out.

With my own hands still buried deep in my pockets, I stand right over her, with the toes of my shoes under her bed. Partially, for a piece of a fraction, of a hint, of half a second, I'm content just being close to her. Just to lay my eyes on her and hear her breathing, and know she's alive, and safe. For a moment, it's enough to just be near my meaning—my significance.

But then my heart beats her name.

And love hums like she hears it, and she flexes her hand under her chin. Her fingers curl around the end of my sleeve for something to hold onto.

I extend my hand before a single thought can even form. Taking her fingers from under her chin, I hold them in my own and curve my free arm underneath her, feeling her wake as I move.

Bella sucks in a deep breath, startled from her sleep. I sink against her, shifting and angling myself so our whole bodies touch. My neck and shoulder are above her face; there for her to gasp and panic into for a second.

I feel her heart, pulsing fast in her chest. I feel it right under mine and I feel her breathing hard against my skin.

"Shhh, you have to be quiet," I tell her, pushing the blankets between us out of the way. She grips my sides through my jacket, holding on so tightly. She nods in understanding, but I can't make it clear enough. "You can't make a fucking sound, baby..."

"Baby..." I'm dizzy in her, swallowed up and consumed entirely. "Baby, baby..."

Bella nods more, faster, twisting and turning her head to look up at me. She parts her legs and lets me fit, pulling fistfuls of my hoodie so hard when I push against her. She squeezes her sleepy green-blues shut and presses her lips tightly together, struggling to keep quiet through the contact.

"Bliss," I whisper against her cheek, creeping my hands under the bottom edge of her shirts, my hoodie and her sleep tank. I feel my way up her stomach. In love. Enraptured. Overfuckingjoyed and eager for more of her. "My Bliss, mine, so fucking mine..."

She smells like shampoo and lavender and citrus. She's warm like summer sunsets and soft like melting together between dreams. She's all girl, my girl, priceless and prized and perfect. My cure. My safe place.

I slide my left hand higher under her pajamas. Along her naked back, I bring her closer to myself. I tilt her head with my right hand and press my thumb into the corner of her mouth. She opens for me and I kiss her made-for-kissing lips.

Our kiss is air and I break it only to push my hoodie off of her, to pull her sleep shirt up with it and lay her back down. She reaches for me as I lean close again and drag my open mouth from her neck to her chest. Her breasts are small and soft, rising and falling as she struggles to breathe under my touch. Baby whimpers behind her sealed shut lips when I circle her nipples and cover her with my palms, and squeeze, and hold, and own her.

"Shhh," I whisper, kissing her delicate-soft skin, pressing my hands firmly into her back to hold her still. "Quiet, baby. You have to be quiet."

Bella nods, pulling one of her hands from my shoulder to press the back of it to her mouth. I shift between her legs and feel her heart race faster. I'm so close, so wrapped up in her, I hear it.

I kiss between her breasts, in the center of her chest, then up higher, more to the left. I open my mouth over where I can feel her pulse vibrate-beating, and press my tongue and teeth over the sound.

Bella arches. She swallows a cry. Skin only I've ever touched, ever kissed, feels like it's going to give. I burn a wildfire inside and struggle for control.

I scrape my teeth gently, testing skin that glows so soft in the night light, skin that's dusted beautiful with sun freckles, skin that I knowwill break for me. Bella twists and shifts, and I bring my left hand up from her back. I cup the side of her face, her neck, brushing my thumb along her chin. I can't get a tight enough grip on her or myself or anything, and I start to panic.

"I need you, Bliss," I hear myself tell her. "I need you so fucking bad. I need you. I can't..."

I shake my head.

Everything spins.

My blood beats loud and fast. Too hard. Too much.

My eyes are open and I see her so clearly, but it can't be real. This can't be real.

Today. Tonight. Right now. This kind of total consumption can't be real.

Bella's heart pounds beloved life right under my lips and in one quick shift I cover her mouth with my hand and dig my teeth into her chest. She cries out under my palm and grips onto me, and I press my fingers into her back to keep her in place. I want to break through skin and bone, and mark that precious little muscleso shenever forgets it's my own.

I drag my teeth and feel her thin skin surrender. I feel her bruise and open, and I press my tongue to the faintest hint of sweet copper. I taste her life and I suck and kiss harder, caught up and unyielding for a moment in the harmony of our uncontainable beats.

I break away when her fingernails dig into my skin. I loosen my grip, but keep her mouth covered, because she's still not quiet. She shudders hard underneath me and pushes my shoulders for mercy. She's pushing with her hands and her fingers are curled tight, but the little sounds she's making are true-love-wrapped.

"I love you," I whisper, kissing so soft over my mark, talking right to her heart. "I love you so much, Bliss. I love you so much it hurts."

She grips me, binding with her hands and squeezing my waist with her legs. Baby turns her head for me to uncover her mouth, so I do. I slide my palm and fingers into sleepy-soft red-blonde curls that are just the right color, and I cradle her head. Whenshe can breathe, she pants that she love, love, loves metoo.

I return my lips to hers and kiss her carefully, gentle and love-full. I move my hand from her back to take her hand from my shoulder and hold it in mine, exactly where it was made to fit.

We turn onto our sides and tangle together, and press as closely as we can. We apologize with shared breaths and forgive with brush-touches. We don't think. We don't ask questions. We have and are all that we need, right here.

_This _is how we work.

Love is absolution. Love is the end of blame. It's cherished welcoming and warm, soft, open arms. It's mercy and reprieve and solace.

Love is passionate compassion. So we kiss more.

Deeper.

Our kiss builds and sets us back on fire.

Bella sits up in her bed to unzip my hoodie. I help her push it off me. I pull my shirt off and bring her to my lap so we can be skin to skin. I wrap her in my arms and press my hands down her bare back, over her tailbone, over adorable little dimple-dips and lower, over her panties. I curve both hands around both of her cheeks.

She inhales a giggle against the side of my mouth, and I smile and squeeze, and use my grip to slide her center against myself.

I could have her right now, just like this. Right here in her room with her parents' door open right down the hall. I shouldn't. I won't. But I know that I could, just as certainly as I know that I shouldn't.

"Edward..." She breathes lightly, moving her small hips with my hands, every bit as caught up as me.

I press her harder to myself and turn, and lay her back, holding her eyes as I cover her and rock against her just like I would if I was inside her. My ache borders excruciating, but touching her this way feels so good. It blurs comfort and relief into mind-numbing pleasure. I want her, so much I want her.

"Baby love," I whisper, lips to her lips, pressing, rocking and rubbing my length against her so soft, so warm center.

Her eyelashes fall closed and her lips curve, remaining open and barely breathing in a little smile shape. She's so pretty it hooks me.

She's real and she's here, and she loves me. She loves me with her whole life, all the way and she's so naturally, so easily, so sincerely beautiful.

I press my hand into the pillows above her shoulder and hold onto her little hip with my other, helping her move with me. I watch her lips part further open and hear her draw deeper, smaller breaths.

I push slow between her legs and lean down to hover my lips just over hers. "I wish I was inside you right now, Bliss."

She pants harder and her legs shake around me. She lifts the small of her back up to meet and match my movements. I groan, resting my forehead on hers, thrusting heavier, deeper against her. Her stomach trembles against mine and I can feel her, hot, hot, hot with need underneath me.

I thrust hard and I know I have to stop. Tonight's not that night for a million reasons and I don't fucking want to wait, but I can because I know we need to. I can shoulder waiting for both of us. I can stop because I have to, but when I look down, baby girl's face is blushing a shade I know all too well.

I move slowly, thinking about what stopping does to her, the pain it sends through her body that's so overwhelmingly strong I've felt it, every time I've stopped and pulled away, and I can't bear it.

I've never actually tried to make a girl come before. I've never wanted toor really cared. Sex isn't about that, but here and now, I need to give this to her. I've waited. I've made her wait. I haven't been ready for her to have it, but it's all consuming suddenly. All I want in the world is to make her feel good.

"Baby," I call her quietly, brushing my fingers from her hip to the front of her stomach, tracing the thin pink cotton between us.

Bella pants deeper and arches higher, but doesn't open her eyes or answer me. She's lost in the feeling, in the movement I haven't eased between our hips.

"Beautiful, beautiful Bliss baby," I whisper even quieter, leaning up. Her lashes flutter open as I pull my hips back, momentarily disconnecting us. Her eyes open wider, as does her mouth when I brush the backs of my fingers over her center for the first time.

She's hot and soaked-full feeling under the fabric. She burns and arches so much higher, grabbing onto my arms.

"Baby, fuck..." I can't keep my eyes open for a second. I rub my knuckles and the backs of my fingers so gently into her softest, most delicate little spot, reveling in how good she feels, how ready she feels for me.

Trying so hard to keep quiet, Bella turns her head into her pillows. She circles her hips, trying to get more, trying to ride my touch, and her shifting opens my eyes again. My vision is locked on her and I'm moving with purpose.

Turning my hand over, holding her precious, perfect little center in my palm and stroking her with a little more pressure, I lean back down, close to her ear. I hook my fingers in the side of her panties. "I'm going to take these off you, princess girl." I just barely feel her bare skin and how wet she is. I let go of the fabric and press harder through it, rubbing a circle shape around where I feel her opening. "I'm going to touch you here, right here, baby…"

Bella's eyes are open now, too, watching me. I can see their deep ocean, blue green light, and I can see her, wanting and trusting me with everything. She blinks and I blink, and I see every part of her, all her pink lace and powdered sugar, and holding hands in the dark. I see her scared and freezing by my window, and high-baby jumping on my bed. I see her pulling my hoodie on for the first time and moving to her knees so that we can be closer to eye-level when she tells me she loves me.

She's strong and sweet, and difficult. She's intuition and absolution and _everything, everything, everything._

My heart Bliss-beats. I stroke softer. Insistent. Needing. Forever-deep lost.

"Tell me I can," I whisper, feeling the strain of desire struggling to be patient in my voice. "Tell me you feel this. Tell me you love me, Bella."

"I love you," she whispers back, not leaving my eyes. "I feel this. I feel you. Please, please, touch me."

I hold her in my palm and I kiss her lips.

I kiss her chin.

I kiss her neck and my dark mark over her heart, and around the curve of her left breast.

I kiss her ribs and down her side. I kiss my belly buttonand I close my eyes to keep from drowning.

I kiss from hipbone to dainty, pretty, little hipbone and grip pink cotton with both my hands. I drag the scrap down her legs and let it fall wherever it falls on her bed, and when I allow my eyes to find her, Bliss is completely bare.

She blushes harder and bats her sleep-dreamy eyelashes low. She starts to press her legs together, but I'm between them, sitting back on my knees. Glancing back and forth from her face to her thighs, I lean up. I take hold of her knees and nudge her legs slowly apart. She sighs my name and holds onto my wrists, and breathes in quick gasps, but I can't look up yet.

She's not hesitating. She's moving with me, opening herself for me, and I can't take my eyes off her.

Love is equal parts shy and courageous.

Love is brand new and untouched, alluring and delicate-pretty.

I glide my hands up the insides of her thighs and open her further. I touch her so pretty slick-softness and I can't believe how soft she feels. Bella lets go of my wrists to cover her own mouth with both hands. I lean down to kiss her neck. I bury my face in the bend of her shoulder and hold my weight up with my left hand while I feel her with my right.

I slide my fingertips from the bottom to the top of her, opening her so carefully. She keeps her mouth covered and wraps her other arm around my neck. She clings and trembles hard for my contact. She rocks and arches for my touch. She burns and bends and begs for it with the prettiest sounds.

My touch goes all the way through her, just like hers does to me.

"So soft, baby," I whisper, incoherent in the bend of her neck. "So fucking soft. Do you have any idea how soft you are? How fucking good you feel, Bliss?" I rub a little harder, spreading my fingers, intentionally keeping them from inside her body. I just feel. I just show her how she feels.

I slide-rub. I feel and learn and come to know her, and when I draw a tight little circle around her clit with my middle fingertip, baby almost shiver-shatters apart.

"Here?" I ask lowly, lips and teeth under her ear, fingers circling with dedicated determination now. "Right here?"

"Yes," she pants through her fingers, small and hot and full-feeling under mine. Her face is hidden in my neck too. Her cheeks are blushed so hot they burn my skin. Her breathless little voice brands my flesh. "Yes, yes, yes, please, please."

Leaning up so I can see her, I draw another slow circle and watch her forehead crinkle. Her eyes clench closed, but she grips me with her other hand now. Her lips fall open and she breathes like she can't even, like she's trying so hard. I slide my touch back to her opening and circle my fingers for more hot soft-slickness. I slide and circle, and rub it into her clit, and her whole body tenses up tighter than my chest in the car on the way here. Tighter than anything I've ever felt.

I taste her desperation in the air. I hear her, beating life and love and desire inside me.

Love becomes extrasensory.

"Let it go, baby," I whisper, nose to nose again, lips to her shaking lips. "Let go, Bliss. Just let go."

Love digs her fingers into my shoulders. She squeezes me unbelievably tight and something deep inside her breaks open, something so strong a scream builds in her chest, and I feel it in mine, and I've got my left hand over her mouth before the sound even reaches her lips.

Love rolls and swirls, and holds onto me. Love comes and comes undone, and is the most amazing, the most cherished, most beautiful and most important anything, anywhere, ever.

Love's a secret miracle and a natural phenomenon.

Love's a soft-whispering, breath-chasing, head-on-my-chest, hands-in-my-own, smiling, sighing, yawning, tingly-weak-limbed, sleepy-eyed good girl.

Love is mine, invariably and unconditionally. She was made for me and for always, and I know it.

I close my eyes as she sleeps and listen to her heart, and I wish I could stay.

I tuck her red-blonde behind her ear and thumb-brush the sun-freckles on her shoulder, and I wish we could leave.

I wish tomorrow wouldn't separate us. I wish it could be tonight forever.

But it can't.

When I finally have to, I move carefully and cover Bella back up before sunrise. Pulling away from her is like slow motion shredding. My hands clench and my arms ache. My eyes burn and my stomach twists, and it's harder just to breathe. My chest feels bruised. Every heart beat hurts.

I kiss her forehead and nose, and both of her cheeks, and as I stand up straight I feel the weight in my front pocket.

I swallow hard and lean down to kiss love again, the top of her head. For a second, breathing is easy. Baby's fast asleep and her hair smells like both of us together, like home. She feels exactly like home and I wish so much I could take that feeling with me when I go.


	16. Doin' Time

**We do not own Twilight. In fact, sometimes I forget that's where they even came from. **

**YellowGlue is the Sub to my lime, and LovelyBrutal is our Beta and encourage giver. **

**Quick Note: I want to give out the most sincere thank you to everyone who is reading and supporting Dusty. Emotions run high when we update, but I've come to learn that's not always bad. You have made this experience so interesting … thank you for your words of approval, to the people who admit that they were at one point "Somebody's Bliss," and to all of the mean and nasty comments, because without even all of those, Dusty wouldn't receive all of the love it gets. **

**You guys are so not stale. **

**Sublime – Doin' Time: **_Oh, take this veil from off my eyes. My burning sun will someday rise. What am I goin' to be doin' for a while? Say, I'm going to play with myself. Show them, now we've come off the shelf, so what?_

_._

_._

_Evil, come to tell you that she's evil, most definitely. Evil, ornery, scandalous and evil, most definitely. The tension is getting hotter. I'd like to hold her head under water..._

**Chapter 15 – Isabella Bliss**

The summertime breeze burns my eyes, causing them to tear. My hair blows up, swirling and tangling around my head, dancing in the warm evening air. The gravel crunches under Garrett's Haro. My hands sweat over the plastic grips. The Steve Madden wedges Esme gifted me with for no reason at all sit on the pedals, rotating and spinning as my feet circle, circle, circle the wheels, keeping me up with my three skateboarding friends.

I place one hand on the seat, over my teal bubble-hemmed skirt, because as I ride, wind fills it up and Alice saw my underwear.

"No one wears a skirt when they ride, B," she said before we left my house. "Or those!" She pointed to my shoes.

"I do," I said.

The sky's painted pink, purple, orange, and blue: twilight. The street lights are beginning to turn on, and as we pass by different houses, it smells like dinnertime. Kids play in the street, and cars cruise by with all of the windows down. The neighborhood is alive, savoring the last few weeks of summer while it's still here.

Alice rolls by screaming: "You can't fight against the youth!" She bends at her knees, flying down the hill. "Because we're strong, and we're rude, rude people!"

Her hair is long, waist length, unbrushed and knotted. She's wearing a pair of faded-purple jean shorts and a black tank top. Alice's skin is sun-kissed dark, and her nose is peeling from too much outside light. She rolls with her arms extended out to her side, like she's flying, like she wants to take off.

Jasper passes next, trying to keep up with his girlfriend. His eyes are alive with emotion and adoration. The way he looks at her sometimes … it's intimidating. It's like she's the only other person in the entire world to him. Their silent eyes-only, sigh-only, gesture-only language of affection is awing.

I mean, of course they use their words, but it's better to watch them speak in expression. It's much more predominate and bold. And after spending the summer observing them, it's easy to translate what they're saying when she slowly blinks twice and he heavy sighs. Or when Jasper coughs into his fist and Alice blushes. Or when she winks and he scratches above his eyebrow.

Earlier this week, Jasper went out of town, so it was an odd day when the four of us weren't together. Jazz was gone, Garrett took advantage of the free day and went over to Claire's, and Alice and I laid out in her backyard. While she wouldn't admit it, Alice was heartbroken and stray without her suspiring-half. They spent the hours divided texting each other in Taking Back Sunday song lyrics.

Jasper:_A beautiful girl can make you dizzy, like you've been drinking jack and coke all morning. She can make you feel high, full a single greatest commodity known to man. Promise, promise of a better day. Promise of a greater hope. Promise of a new tomorrow. This particular aura can be found in the gait of a beautiful girl. In her smile and in her soul and the way she makes every rotten little thing about life seem like its gonna be okay..._

Alice: _You're all I see, sink into me. Sharpen your teeth, sink into me. Sink into me (sink in, sink in.)_

And while all of that was going on, I was wondering where my boy was, texting him in an entirely different tone.

Me: _Where are you?_

Dusty: _Gone. _

That's how it's been with him since his birthday: he's been gone.

While Alice flies ahead of me, and Jasper follows her, Garrett copies my pace, and I'm in no hurry. I've spent almost every day of summer with this boy, and it's hard not to notice how perfect he is. He's different than Jasper. Jasper is mellow, where Garrett is dauntless. He doesn't speak in sighs and motions. He's a slow burn, but he's quick to stand up for himself. I guess he reminds me of Edward in that way. Neither one of them needs to be loud to get their point across, but Edward is intuitive, where Garrett can take a lot before he acts. Not much makes Garrett mad, and everything upsets Edward.

Despite the similarities, he isn't Edward.

"Thanks for letting me borrow your bike, Garrett," I say, slowly turning the pedals.

Robbin' the Hood, 40 oz. to Freedom, Stand by your Van, and anything else Sublime have been our summertime anthems, so it doesn't surprise me when I hear Chica Mi Tipo when Garrett pulls his headphones down and asks, "What did you say, Bliss?"

I'm about to repeat myself when I see _him._ He's at the end of the hill, standing beside his car with Petey and Ben, smoking a cigarette. I haven't seen Edward in a couple of days, and seeing him now makes my skin feel like it's being poked with a million little needles. My voice is caught in my throat, and my heart is double-triple beating.

His bite mark throbs.

"Nothing," I say to Garrett, catching Edward's livid glare.

I keep pedaling, doing my best to keep my hands from shaking. Edward's talking to his sister and Jasper, but his attention is on me, even if his eyes aren't.

That's our deal.

The closer I get, the more I notice. Like his eyes are a dark-dark-black. His hands have their own tremble. He isn't wearing any socks with his gray slip-on Vans. There's something inside of the right pocket of his dark-green, skinny, knee-length cutoff Levi shorts. He hasn't shaved in a couple of days. His hair is dirty, but it looks good under his hat. He's taking deep pulls from his cigarette, because he's mad. He's smirking, because he has something to say.

"When did you ditch the training wheels, little girl?" he says, blowing smoke into the air.

Ben snorts. Petey takes Alice's board and kick-flips.

"Don't be a dick, Edward," she says, taking Jasper's board and following Petey.

I know my cheeks are reddened, but that's the only give-away to how annoyed I really am. I keep the rest of me calm-informal, even if my bones are literally shaking, because I want to scream, _"Where the fuck have you been?"_ I want to drop the bike and pull Edward by his shirt until he answers me. I want to bite his knuckles and kick his shins.

But I don't.

I stay on the bike and roll my eyes.

Ben walks away, talking on his cellphone. Garrett kind of, sort of stands beside me. His shoulders are straight, but it's obvious he feels uncomfortable around my guy. Edward's still smirking, leaning back against the driver's side door of his Continental. He takes one last drag from his cigarette and flicks it out to the street.

"No pom-poms on the handle bars. No stupid white basket on the front. No bell. Whose bike is that, baby Bliss?"

"Mine," Garrett says.

Edward eyes snap to Garrett, and I can literally hear the chaos going on inside of Edward's head. His unease is in the fisting of his hands and the tightness in his jaw. His crooked smirk is condescending and menacing, and not threatening, but promising.

I put both feet on the ground and stand up with the bike between my legs. "He let me borrow it because I don't know how to skateboard, Edward."

Garrett is the first to look away. He rubs the palms of his hands over his face and smiles at me. "I told you I'd teach you."

"How fucking cute," Edward mumbles, lighting another cigarette.

I can feel my heart-pulse in my teeth, in my fingernails, and in my hair. It's thud, thud, thudding in high gear. My stomach is twisting and turning, somersaulting. I want to drag my nails down my face. I want to whimper, because my insides are turning over. My heart won't calm, and I can see it in Edward—he wants to say something so bad. And if Garrett doesn't get out of here, he will. He'll ruin everything because I'm riding the boy's bike.

"That's probably a horrible idea, Garrett," I say causally, normally. "Besides, I don't have the right shoes."

This time Edward laughs. "Baby girl," he whispers, checking out my wedges.

And just like that, I miss him all over again. I miss him so much my bones are shaking for a whole different reason. My heart is pound, pound, pounding, but it's because love is right in front of me. I still notice his eyes and his dirty hair, but I note the tenderness in his face and the hunger in his smile. I notice he crosses his arms over his chest, not because he wants to hit Garrett, but because he wants to touch me.

So then I say: "Can you drive me home?"

And he says: "Get in."

Just as Edward is telling me to get in, a red Honda Accord pulls up with Tanya behind the wheel. Ben shakes Edward's hand and kisses my forehead. He says he'll see us later before jumping in the car and taking off down the road. Garrett rolls toward Jasper to ask him what he wants to do. Edward takes the bike from me and sticks it in the trunk. I'm hyper-aware of his presence. His nearness assaults my judgment. I gravitate and follow as he moves, and when he turns around, we both smile.

"I miss you," he whispers, brushing my hair off of my shoulder. "Sun-touched baby."

I want to slip under his shirt and put my arms where his arms are, and put my head where his head is. I want our stomachs to touch, and our chests to touch. I want to wrap my legs around his waist and feel him where he feels best. I want him to pull my head back by my hair and kiss down my throat … I want him to leave bruises. I want him to leave teeth and scratch marks. I want to feel the tip of his fingers push into my thighs, and hear his words in my ear, in my hair, against my skin.

Two days have been two too many.

"Where have you been?" I ask, giving him no clue to what I really want.

"At Petey's," he answers quickly, dismissively. He opens the door to the Continental so I can get in. I step forward and bend to get in the back, but Edward grabs my arm and steers me toward the front. I slide in, all the way to the passenger seat, but when Edward gets in, he hooks his hand in between my legs and pulls me over to the middle of the bench seat. The car smells so good: a mix of pot, leather, pine trees, and Edward: vanilla and disorder.

"I'm sorry I haven't seen you since..." he hesitates. "Since my birthday."

Since he broke the lock and into my house. Since he came to my room. Since he made me come.

"Yeah, well," I say, picking at the end of my hair.

Edward drapes his arm over the back of the seat. Without looking around, I fall into him. "I don't want him coming with us, Bella."

I know he's talking about Garrett.

"Do you have to go home?" he asks.

I shrug. "I can call my mom and see if she'll let me stay at your house."

Edward hands me his cell phone because Alice has mine in her back pocket. I call. Mom says it's fine, but I have to be home Sunday morning because school starts in a handful of weeks and I need to get back on a routine. I need to start going to bed earlier.

Like I'm a ten-year-old.

I laugh after hanging up, halfway embarrassed by mom, halfway furious with her for treating me this way.

Edward's lights another cigarette. "You have your parents so fucking tricked, sunny side."

"I know."

We wait a little longer before Alice and Petey finally get in the car, taking a seat in the back. I wait for Garrett and Jasper to get in, but they never do.

"They're going to skate a little longer," Alice fills me in as Edward starts his car and drives away from the curb. "They said they'll see us tomorrow."

Like the people I saw earlier, we drive around town with all of the windows down and the music up. The sky is a dark blue and a few stars are showing. The moon is out, orange and low. The sound of sprinklers and the smell of hose water occupies the cab of the car as we drive down the road I live on; a man is washing his car, and a few kids are running through the sprinklers just as their mom opens the door to call them into the house. I remain leaned into Edward's side, taking it all in. Soon all of this will be over, and before we know it, it'll be winter again.

I'm wondering if I should move away from Edward. His arm is on the back of the seat, and the way we're positioned is harmless; no one has said anything, but Edward and I need to be careful. We can never give anyone reason to ever even consider a relationship between the two of us. But after his birthday, and after the last couple of days, the thought of moving away from him is paralyzing.

So I take a look, just to see what Alice is doing, and I'm pleasantly surprised and amazingly relieved.

Alice and Petey are in the same exact position Edward and I are in, only Petey has his head leaned back with his eyes closed, and Alice's head has fallen forward; they're both lightly snoring.

"We've been driving for ten minutes." I giggle.

Edward checks them out in the rear view mirror and says, "Petey hasn't slept in over a day, and my sister is a baby, you know that."

When Edward pulls in front of my house, he tells me to stay in the car. I didn't tell my mom I was stopping by, and she doesn't come out of the house, so I listen and stay put. While Edward walks to the back of the car, I turn around in my seat and snap my fingers in Alice's face. "Alice!" I whisper-say. She doesn't move. I poke Petey in the cheek. He snores louder.

Edward slams the trunk and tosses Garrett's bike onto my front lawn.

Neither one of them make a sound; they just sleep.

They slumber the entire way to the beach, and when me and Edward get out, they still don't wake up. He locks them in while I unbuckle my wedges. Edward takes my shoes from me and grabs my hand, leading the way to our beach-shore.

Halfway there, he stops, dropping my shoes into the sand. He takes my face in his hands and kisses my lips lightly. "I missed your mouth," he whispers, kissing me harder this time. His tongue parts my lips, my arms go around his neck, and we both fall to the ground. I laugh. He laughs, too. We keep kissing. Hard. Harder. Hardest. Our lips slide and glide and linger and brush. He tastes like smoke, toothpaste, and beer.

I want him to do it again—what he did in my room on his birthday. But not right now. Right now I want this. Kissing.

We share breaths, and I taste his words. "I love you," he says. "Can you feel it? Can you feel how much I fucking love you, B?" Then: "I'll break that motherfucker's bike if I see you on it again."

We can't kiss anymore because I'm laughing too hard.

.

.

.

We're sitting on the dock. The tide is low, so our feet hang. Edward's behind me with his chin on my shoulder; it's like we're mended together. He's telling me about the last couple of days: "We haven't been doing much … fucking around mostly."

I know he's leaving parts out, but I can't bring myself to care too much. When I get nervous about Alice and Petey waking up, he promises me we'll see them before they see us. "We'll hear the car door, baby Bliss."

After he's done talking, we sit in the silent dark, listening to the waves in the bay. I place my bare feet on top of his, and he pulls me incredibly closer. Edward kisses the side of my neck before telling me I taste like the best kind of day. I interlace our fingers and squeeze until it hurts. He tries to hold me more near, but we can't get any more close—there's no more space between us.

Edward slips his hand under my shirt and holds his palm to my stomach … his pinky finger teases the waist band of my skirt. "Remember the other night, Bliss?" he asks quietly.

I nod my head.

He pulls his hand away from my stomach and slides it under my skirt. "Do you remember how you felt?"

"Yes," I whisper.

He rubs over my underwear. "Can I do it again?"

My lips part and the smallest breath escapes as I say, "Yes."

He removes his hand from my panties, hooking it under my knee. He brings my foot up and places it on the dock. Edward opens my legs and pulls my head back just enough to kiss my lips. His hand is on me, slowly, slowly, slowly touching. His free hand is on the side of my throat, his lips are at my ear: _"Princess baby. My Bella baby,"_ he says so quietly I hardly hear him.

He rubs, and he rubs, and he rubs. I stare up at the starlit night before closing my eyes and arching my back away from his chest. Without thinking, I bring my other knee up and open my legs wider. I curl my toes and grip onto his shorts as he takes me higher.

"That's it, sweet girl," he says. I can feel his hardness against my lower back. I push myself on him—he groans. "Slow, slow, slow," he repeats. So I circle my hips slowly, easily, carefully.

My cheeks are heating and my insides are thrashing. The blowup is building, and it's so fucking good to know he won't take it away from me anymore, but he'll give it to me over and over if I beg well enough.

The tension is too much, so I remove my hands from his shorts and cover his hand with both of mine. He chuckles, and I smile.

"Harder?" he asks.

I lick my lips and nod.

"More," I say.

"Do you even know what you're asking for?"

I push his hand firmer; I make him circle tighter.

Then he's on his back, and I'm straddling his hips. I can feel him against me, with nothing more than his shorts and my underwear between us. Edward takes a hold of my hips and motions me back and forth in long, fluid movements. I place my hands on his chest and copy his lead.

"Like this, Bliss," he says, guiding me. My knees press into the old, sea-soaked wood, my lungs fill with salt-air, and my eyes water when I bite my lip too hard. I grab onto Edward's shoulders and throw my head back when the newly familiar feeling of lightening, fire, and electricity shoots through my body and out my limbs. I cry out into the night, only to have Edward sit up and cover my mouth.

My hips act on their own, working until my insides are contracting and my entire body it lit with tingles and thrills. And just when I think I can't take it anymore, and I can't open my eyes and my lips are numb, I fall fragile into Edward's arms and hide my face in his neck. He helps me move until it's over … until the last whimper has left my lips, and I'm reduced to nothing but weak arms and silly smiles.

His hands stay on my thighs, and I stay on his lap until we hear the car door open and close.

.

.

.

It's the last weekend before school starts, and I'm not ready for the summer to be over. I stare at my closet, running my hand through all of my dresses and skirts, tank tops and halters. My eyes run over my flip-flops and wedges, over to my old snow boots that don't fit anymore. It's funny how just last year I thought they would save and protect me from anything, like they had power woven into the soles or something.

I push them to the side, thinking, _a lot of shielding you did. _

Beside my old gray boots, is a new box, is an early birthday present from Alice: white Doc Martens. I secretly hated them at first, because they reminded me of Victoria. But after I tried them on, I realized if there was ever a boot in this entire world that can defend me from anything, it's going to be these.

If I would have kicked Victoria in the face with my snow boots, it may have hurt, but she would have recovered easily. But if I kick her in the face with my new Docs … well, you know.

"What are you doing, baby?" Mom stands with her arms crossed over her chest, looking into my room.

I wish she would have knocked, but I don't mention it. "Looking for something to wear to the beach," I say.

"The beach?"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, composing patience. "Yeah, Mom. I asked you the other day if I can go, remember?"

She steps into my room and sits on my bed. The same bed, that not even four weeks ago, Edward was in with me … seeing me, touching me, telling me things. I want her to get off, because I want it to be only ours, but again, I stay quiet.

"I don't remember, but who do you think you're going to the beach with?"

"Esme and Alice," I lie easily, pulling a strapless top off a hanger.

Mom snorts. "I don't know, Bliss … you've spent the entire summer —"

I cut her off, "Mom, please."

I walk over to my dresser and pull out a pair of purposely washed, worn, and ripped Levi shorts. I throw my clothes onto the bed beside my mom before opening the top drawer, searching for the bikini Esme bought me last month.

"Well, you'll need to be home—" she starts, but I interrupt her again.

"Actually, Mom, I was wondering if I can stay over Alice's tonight." I turn to face her, holding the red bikini in my hands. I lay the sweetness on thick by touching her hair and silly-smirking. "I know I need to be home early because of school, but summer is practically over, and..."

"Fine." She smiles, but I can see the disappointment behind her eyes. It doesn't stop me from clapping my hands and hugging her, though. "But you need to be home tomorrow morning, Bella."

"I will!" I say, jumping up and running back over to my closet to grab my beach bag. "I'll be home by twelve."

"I said the morning, Isabella."

"Fine," I agree, pushing things in my closet around until I find my bag. "I'll be home by eleven."

.

.

.

"I can't handle this." Petey and Ben are standing in front of me and Alice. Their arms are crossed over their bare chests, and they're both looking at our boobs. "Little sisters, all fucking grown up." Petey waves his hands in front of my chest. "Where did those even come from, Bliss? You're not supposed to have tits, you're like, twelve!"

I shake my beach towel out and lie it on the sand. I look at Pete through my Ray Bans, shaking my head. "I'm almost fifteen, Petey." I laugh, slipping out of my shorts.

The bikini Esme bought me fits flawlessly. It ties between my breasts and around my neck. The bottoms hang low and tight, with little bows over my hip bones. The red color makes my hair look more strawberry than blonde, and the contrast is beautiful against my all-summer-long tan. It's a far cry from my yellow childhood suit I wore the first time these boys saw me in swimwear.

As soon as my shorts slip past the curve of my butt, Petey and Ben both squeal like little girls and cover their eyes–—peeking though their fingers. I'm kicking my shorts to the side when Alice finally takes off her white tank top, showing her highlighter-yellow strapless bikini top.

The boys really trip out over her.

"Holy shit!" Ben yells. "Alice's tits are bigger than Bliss'!"

She throws her shirt in his face and tells him to shut up. "They're only boobs."

"Little sister boobs," Petey corrects her. "It's a whole new level of fucked up."

Alice kicks off her American flag denim shorts and shakes her ass for Petey. He pretends to be mortified, but I see his sly smile. I sit on my red and white striped beach towel, aiming my face toward the sky-high sun. Warmth immediately sinks through my skin, touching bone … making me hot, burning my skin.

I love it.

Esme dropped us off and told us to have fun after picking me up from my house. I smiled as soon as my toes touched sand. The La Push seashore is jammed packed with families and parties, couples and surfers. Garden Grove is playing from a stereo on top of a cooler. The air smells like salt and sunblock. The humidity is almost suffocating, but in a good way.

This is how I wanted to say goodbye to summer vacation: at the beach with my friends, with my feet sand-deep and my skin hot, hot, hot.

I recognize people from school, especially the Sluts, who are making their presence no secret. They're loud and obnoxious, drinking from red cups and strutting around in their barely-there bikinis. Jake Black, a friend of Edward's, flirts with Mixie by pulling the side strings on her hot-pink bottoms. She laughs like it's funny, like she wouldn't mind if they slipped low enough for him to see.

I hate that I notice her, but Victoria is face down on her towel, soaking up the precious light-rays. She has a red cup in her hand; it's covered in sand and wet with condensation. I think she's sleeping, but I can't really tell through her black sunglasses. Her lips are pouty like she is, though, and her back slowly rises and falls with each breath she takes. Victoria's dark hair is pulled over her shoulder, exposing the perfect bronze-brown skin on her shoulders and back, which continues in a clean evenness down her legs. I haven't seen her at all this summer, but I can tell she's spent just as much time in the sun as Alice and I have, if not more.

I force myself to look away, laughing at Alice. She has her hands hooked into the top of her bathing suit, threatening to flash Petey if he doesn't stop looking at my boobs.

I didn't even notice he still was.

Ben drops my top back into my lap. I hold it up and look at him questioningly, and he answers my silent wonder by saying, "Put it on before one of these guys notice and Edward freaks."

He's only half-kidding.

I toss it to the side and lie back.

I don't know where Edward is, but his car is in the parking lot. It's hard to miss, and I didn't. My heart beat deepened the moment I saw it. Only now, he's nowhere to be found. So I ask Ben, "Where's Edward?"

I lift my head and look at my friends. Petey's spraying sunblock all over Alice's back. She's pulling her long, dirty-blonde hair into a messy bun right on top of her head. She has a watermelon chili sucker in her mouth and white heart shaped sunglasses on her face.

Pete sprays sunblock in her hair, Alice screams, "Dammit!" and chases him when he runs. Victoria brings her head from the towel, and Ben says, "Over there," referring to Dusty, before his name is called and Benny walks away.

Before I can look to see where _over there_ is, Victoria spots me. "Little, sister," she says is a thick, sleep voice. "When did you get here?"

She turns over and sits Indian style. She takes a drink from her red cup, saying nothing about the sand around the rim. She has sleep lines on her stomach, chest and face. And if I thought she was stunning before, when I had only seen her fully dressed, she is disorientingly errorless in a bikini. It still literally hurts to look at her.

Her toes are painted black like her fingernails. Only her fingernails are chewed down and chipped. She isn't very tall, but Victoria's legs fit right into her black bottoms, and her full chest is barely covered by her tangerine, strapless top. She has no tan lines, and that's more than I can say for myself. I have a few. She looks comfortable here—at home. Like she could just lie back down and fall asleep again without a worry about covering herself up, or how she looks. She has a confidence I cannot even begin to mimic.

I hate her.

"About twenty minutes ago," I answer, hoping she doesn't ask me anything else, because I don't feel like pretending to like her when when I don't.

Victoria's looking around. She lifts her sunglasses on to her forehead, about to say something, but Alice walks past her, kicking up sand, shutting Victoria down.

"Petey is such a douche bag!" Alice laughs, standing next to my towel, fixing her messy bun. "And look at my brother." Alice points toward the parking lot; both Victoria and I look. "I don't know who he thinks he's kidding."

I keep looking, and so does Vic, who has a small smirk on her lips, but Alice sits, tossing me a ginger ale from her backpack. She brought them for me. And the Twinkies.

I can't take my eyes off of him, even though I should. Especially with Victoria looking at Edward, too. He's in a pair of black rubber flip-flops, and black and neon-green board shirts. His shirt is off, and his skin is tanned and tickled pink. He's leaning into Dimitri's open car window on his forearms. They're talking, and Edward's laughing, shaking his head. Then they shake hands, but it's odd, like it lingers for too long. Edward's smile is gone, replaced with a mischievous grin. He backs away from the car and Dimitri drives away.

I don't know much about Dimitri. Then again, with the exception of Petey and Ben, I don't know much about any of Edward's other friends. He keeps them all at a distance, only allowing Alice and I around the two boys who have been his friends since day one. But I do know Dimitri makes me feel uncomfortable. I've felt that way since my very first day of school when he stepped on my foot in the hallway. Maybe it's his smile, inauthentic and collusive. Or maybe it's because he walks around like he's untouchable.

"What's that guy's deal?" I ask after Dimitri has peeled out of the parking lot. I turn away from Edward and open my soda.

Alice scoffs, brushing sand off of her New Kids on the Block towel. "Don't be so naive, Bella. Dimitri's a dope dealer."

"A dope dealer?" I question.

Alice flips from her butt to her stomach. "Yeah, where do you think Edward gets his bud from?"

"I guess I never really thought about it." I shrug, trying to look uninterested.

I take a drink of my soda and look at the water. I hear his footsteps before I see him, and I know it's him by the way my heart reacts to his closeness. Edward doesn't come to me, though.

Victoria's standing now, running her fingers through her beach-dirty hair. She has a silly smile on her lips, which only grows when Edward comes up from behind her, circling his arms around her stomach. She leans her head back, and he whispers something into her ear. Victoria nods her head, placing her hands on top of his. Then she says something and Edward's head snaps up. I look away. But then he's in front of me, blocking out the sun.

"When did you get here?" he asks.

I don't face up. Instead I glare past him toward the water. I speak like he's bothering me, like he's an inconvenience. "Why does everyone keep asking us that?"

"Go away, Dusty," Alice says, waving him off, flipping the page of her magazine.

He runs his hand through is hair and over his face. "Why are you here?"

This time I look up. So does Alice, saying, "You invited us, you stupid fuck!"

It's obvious he doesn't remember offering the invitation, but I don't allow him to make me feel unwelcome. He's being a jerk because he's comfortless. I just saw his little interaction with Victoria and he knows it. Maybe he figures I saw him at Dimitri's car, too. Maybe he doesn't like being put on the spot.

Then: "Did you invite Garrett and Jasper?"

_Or maybe he doesn't want to see me with the sweater-giver all day. _

"Duh," Alice answers.

Dusty walks away.

Fifteen minutes later, my skin can't take the heat anymore and I have to get into the water. I talk Alice into going in with me, and together, hand in hand, we tip, tip, tip toe in, until the beach water is waist high and too cold to go any further. It's both shocking and relieving against my warmed skin. I try not to scream like a girl, but when Petey comes running from the shore, tackling Alice, splashing me in the process, I can't hold it back.

Alice and Petey go under, and when they come back up, my best friend is screaming about lost heart shaped glasses and a nipple slip. It freaks Petey out, and he swears he didn't see her boobs, but he's blushing like cherry, so I know he's lying.

"You saw my areolas!" Alice scream-laughs, loving Petey's obvious distress.

"Dude, shut up before Edward hears!" he hisses.

Alice stops, splashing Pete with some water. "Fine, but help me find my glasses and go get an innertube for me and Bliss."

I glide my hands on top of the water line, slowly sinking in until my chest is under. I love watching these two go at it.

"Get your own tube, short shit," Petey scoffs, beginning to turn away.

"Edward!" Alice screams. "Petey saw my —"

"Fine!" Petey dives underwater, beginning his thirty minute hunt for heart shaped glasses.

.

.

With her glasses back on and a red cup full of Captain and Coke, Alice and I sit side by side in a huge yellow innertube. Petey tied us to the shore so we can't go far, but we still float away. I take sips of Alice's drink, but she's already on her second one and a little tipsy. Everyone is. The music is getting louder and the commotion is becoming rougher. After Petey tied us up, he and Ben tossed Kim into the water. I think she was crying, but I didn't care enough to really figure it out.

The sun is moving higher into the sky, and I'm loving every heat ray. I dip my toes into the water and lay back, letting the ends of my hair soak salty wet. I close my eyes, convincing myself that everything is okay, because right after Petey and Ben threw Kim into the water, the two of them disappeared, along with Victoria and Edward. They're not back yet.

"So I have to tell you something," Alice says, taking a small drink from her cup.

I lift my Ray Bans to the top of my head and wait for her to continue. "What?"

"Well ..." she starts. "I was talking to Jasper this morning, and they're coming to the beach later tonight, and Garrett broke up with Claire."

"What?" I try to sit up, almost dumping Alice and I in the process. Half of her drink spills onto her stomach, washing away in the water. "When?"

Alice laughs, probably misinterpreting my surprise. "Last night. He doesn't love her," Alice says nonchalantly, but I know better. Alice is never insouciant about anything. There's motive in her pitch.

"What did you do, Ally?" I ask, slipping my glasses back on, slumping back into the tube.

"Nothing really. Maybe I said he should ask you out … or fingerbang you. Either way, you win." She shrugs, smiling.

A little while later, after Edward returns from wherever he went, we have them pull us back to the beach. Alice, sun baked and a little bit drunk, passes out on her towel. I take her magazine and open another ginger ale. When my back has had enough sun, I flip over. I think about Victoria and her flawless skin, I think about Edward hugging her from behind, and I think about them disappearing.

I never let myself feel threatened by her, but in a situation like this, it's hard not to. At least when she's dressed and at school her personality is obvious: she's a slut. But here, all I see is her tan line-free body in her black and tangerine bikini, and I can't help but feel a little bit sorry for myself. I mean, how can someone _not _notice her?

The somber mood Vic was in when I first arrived is gone, and now she's being loud and obnoxious. She and Mixie are in the water. Jake Black picks her up and tosses her over his head. She screams until she hits the surface, and continues to scream when she reappears.

Then Edward is with her, and she's on his back. He doesn't make her get off. And I can't watch anymore.

After drinking the bottom half of my soda in one drink, I reach behind my neck and untie my bathing suit top, allowing the straps fall to my side. I lean back on my elbows and hide the straps behind my back, letting the sun shine directly on my decollete. The sun is beginning to set, but it still caresses my skin with its delicious sting.

The bite mark Edward left me on my chest four weeks ago is gone and healed, but little white scar marks remain, lighter than the rest of my summer soaked skin. It was hard to hide it from Alice in the beginning. We've spent the entire summer season in our bikinis, so she didn't understand why I left my tank top on when we laid out last week. I told her I didn't want tan lines.

_Stupid tan lines. Stupid Victoria. _

Edward must have some sick sixth sense regarding my state of undress, because the second I lie back to get comfortable, his body is blocking out the sun again.

"Move," I say in a dull tone. I place my forearm over my eyes to keep from looking at him. "You're in the way."

"Put your top back on, Bliss." He doesn't sound amused, which is actually kind of funny, figuring I haven't been once since I got here.

"My top is on, Edward." I try to match his impatient manner of speaking. I even giggle at myself afterward.

"Tie it," he says.

"No."

"Bliss," he groans, bending down so he's right beside me.

Edward removes my forearm from over my eyes and tries to get me to sit up. I hold onto my bikini top while I swat at him. He fights back, though, eventually winning. But I get up and move away from him. He grabs me by my forearm and forces me to sit back down.

Alice never wakes. No one else notices.

Edward kneels behind me and reaches over, taking the bikini straps from my hand. He circles them around my neck and double ties a knot. His fingers linger on the side of my throat, and I feel him very lightly press his lips to the back on my shoulder. It was so light, it was almost nothing at all. Anyone looking on would have missed it completely—it's just a boy helping out his little sister's friend with her bathing suit.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks lowly.

"Yeah," I answer honestly. "I am."

"I'm sorry."

"Where did you go?" I ask, picking up sand and watching it fall between my fingers.

"To smoke," he says.

I criss-cross my legs and brush all of my hair over my shoulder. Edward's still sitting behind me; I can literally feel him. But then he stands, and then he's in front of me, and this time, I look, too. His hands are in his hair, and his eyes are dark. The setting sun is behind him, illuminating his profile in oranges and pinks. I force myself not to stare for too long and reach over into my bag. I bring out my hoodie and pull it on over my head. Then I look again. His hands are still in his hair and his eyes are still dark.

"What are you on?" I whisper.

He looks at me, then to his sister, but his eye seem unable to really focus. He kind of, sort of paces in front of me, so instead of watching his face, I watch his feet sink into the sand as he step, step, steps.

"Can we talk about that later?" he finally says.

I shrug. "Sure."

He stops pacing. "I'll tell you the truth."

I smile, bringing my knees up, lying my cheek on them. "I know you will."

"Look, I'm sorr—" Edward's about to apologize for whatever, but before he can, Ben and Petey shuffle over to us, each holding one side of the cooler.

I jump up to my feet and scream, "No!" just as they dump the icy-cold water over Alice.

Ben and Pete drop the cooler and start to laugh. Edward and I are motionless; I cover my mouth with my hands and his dark eyes open wide. And Alice, who still has water and ice puddled in the dip of her lower back, just lies there for what feels like an eternity.

Alice screams bloody murder, and I think she scares Ben and Petey because they stop laughing. I kind of step forward to help, but Edward grips my wrist and keeps me in place. The Sluts are giggling, and Jake Black and his friends are all standing back, waiting for Alice to react. Which she does.

"You motherfuckers!" she shrieks, pushing herself up onto her hands and knees; water drips off of her sun-drenched body. Her face is puffy from sleep, but her blue eyes are intense and out for blood.

Alice's skin is pink from the cold water, and goosebumps cover her arms and legs. She's disoriented from being woken up so suddenly, but she's coherent enough to grab my half-full can of ginger ale, chucking it at Petey as she gets to her feet. It hits him in the chest and soda explodes in his and Ben's faces.

I laugh. So does Edward, who is still holding onto my wrist.

Next, Alice throws her bottle of suntan oil at Ben. Then she throws her red cup. Then she picks up the ice chest and throws that too. And while all of this is going on, while my heart is beating out of my chest because Edward is touching me, while I laugh at how funny my best friend is, because she's mad, but she's smiling, while Ben and Petey move and maneuver their way around thrown objects, I notice their eyes are just like Edward's—dark, big, lost—and it's different, really different, like I can feel my entire existence shift and my world alter.

So I'm laughing, playing my part, but inside, my thumping-excited heart constricts. My blood runs cold, and I'm scared. I look over at Edward, and he looks at me, and he's smiling, performing his role perfectly. His smile is not loving, but friendly … and now dark, like he's kind of figured it out, too. Whatever he's done, whatever it is he's doing, changes everything. I search his face and look through his smirk and over his nose. I study the few freckles he has on his cheeks, and I find his eyes, forcing him to look at me. And even though we are on a beach in front of all of our friends, it feels like we're alone. It feels like Edward and I are the only people left in the entire world.

His fingers slowly rub my inner-wrist, and I want to ask, _what's happening?_ But I can't, because the moment's gone the second Alice's little fist makes contact with his chest. The world comes back in a rush: Edward releases his hold, our eyes lose contact, Alice is yelling at her brother, and it's so loud.

"Why did you let them do that, dick?" she asks.

And while my insides feel crumbled up and wounded, I laugh again.

Because that's our deal.

.

.

.

The sun has long been set, so the bonfire keeps me warm now. Edward's on the other side of the flame, drinking with Ben and Pete. He has a hoodie and shoes on. His eyes aren't so dark anymore, but the shift I felt earlier is unrepairable. It's there, staring us in the face.

I hold my hand out to the fire and keep it there until it burns too hot.

"I got this for you." I look up and Garrett is standing next to me, holding two beers in his hand, one stacked on top of the other. "If you want it," he says.

He arrived about an hour ago with Jasper, who came with sweats and a sweatshirt for Alice. It was kind of awkward seeing Garrett, knowing he and Claire aren't together anymore. Everyone has always assumed we would end up together because of who our best friends are, and I like Garrett, but nowhere near enough.

But I see the way he looks at me. I'm not so naive anymore. I've adapted and have common sense now; it's something I've learned through the years, being around Alice and her family. Garrett's looking at me with something deep in his expression, and when I look away because it becomes too profound, Jake Black is looking at me with something a little more desirous. He has been for a while. And when I open my beer, Edward looks through the fire, right at me, and in his look is definition and purpose and reality. His look trumps the others, because his is the only one that matters. His look is soft and hard, doom and disaster, everything and all. It's consuming and arresting, owning and being-owned, mania and rage. It's love. His look is pure fucking love.

Then he's looking at Garrett and it's murderous. Edward looks back at me, and I shrug, then he smiles. But then I snap my eyes over to Jake Black, who is still staring at me. Edward follows my quick glance and sees for himself. We share another look, and it says, _maybe Garrett isn't the only one you should be worrying about. _

I laugh because Edward seems to kind of, sort of get it. Garrett thinks I'm laughing at something he said, so I play along and laugh a little more. And it's a huge low-blow, and really unfair to Garrett, but I want Edward to kind of know how it feels to be me. So I take a drink of my beer and lean into Garrett's side. He seems surprised by the move, but compensates immediately by draping his arm over my shoulders and whispering into my ear, "I've wanted to do this for so long."

His breath is warm and it gives me the chills. I feel power in Garrett's squeeze … he's so strong and so calm and so right, but not. It would be easy with him, effortless. My life would be so simple, and I wouldn't have to lie to anyone in the process. I wouldn't lose Alice if I was to tell her I was with Garrett, and I'm sure my parents would be accepting, too. But while Garrett feels warm, right, and strong, he also feels so, so wrong. His smell is incorrect and the way he whispers is inaccurate. His eyes are too clear and his smirk isn't crooked enough. Garrett might love me, but he can't love me like Edward does. The love I share with Edward is not to be duplicated. It can't be. It's one of a kind.

I feel shitty for leading him on, but I feel worse when I look through the fire and see Edward. He's trying to hold a conversion with Ben, but he can't, and he eventually gives up and throws his beer in the fire. The flames grow and burn bright, heating up to the point of discomfort. Garrett pulls me back and asks, "What the fuck?"

Everyone's kind of, sort of looking at Edward. He has the power to change the entire mood. He always has. He's the leader, and all of these people are his followers. But then he shakes it off and smiles, and everyone kind of takes a breath. I, as subtly as I can, move out from under Garrett's arm. He doesn't seem to notice it's intentional. Or he's too polite to say anything. Alice took off with Jasper a while ago, and I decide I'm going to go look for her, but then Edward punches Jake Black in the face, and suddenly, I can't move at all.

_I didn't even see him move away from the fire. _

A lot like the time he punched Brady in the hallway at school, the impact of Edward's fist on Jake's face is loud. Only this time it's totally different because Jake fights back. Edward is taller, but Jake is bulkier. He hits Edward in the side and Edward groans, but then he smiles and hits Jake in the face for a second time. They fall into the sand, forcing Edward onto his back. Embers from the fire float into the air. Everyone is orange-red lit and shocked from the sudden turn of events. Jake has a hold on Edward's hoodie; he punches him in the face, chest, and neck. The party has circled around them, and I try to run toward the fight, but Garrett holds me back.

I pull my arm free. He can't hold me back. He isn't Edward.

I don't know where Alice comes from, but she's beside me, and together we push our way to the center of the circle where Edward is still on his back and Jake is still on top. Petey and Ben are trying to hold people back, and I don't get it because they were so fast to jump in last time.

"What the fuck!" I yell at the two boys, but they only laugh. "It's a boy thing, Bliss," Petey says.

Alice watches for about three seconds before she takes matters into her own hands and jumps on Jake's back. The entire circle erupts in laughter and shrieks. She's hitting Jake in the back of the head screaming, "Get off my fucking brother!" Petey and Ben smarten up and try to grab at her, but she kicks them away. And under Jake, Edward is seriously laughing.

"You guys are all psycho!" I yell, pulling my hair up and going in for Alice. She almost elbows me in the face and apologizes before hitting Jake again. After a game of tug-of-war, I'm able to pull Alice off the boy, and we both fall into the sand.

It's all really stupid, because we're laughing too much, too hard, and I swear if I don't stop, I'm going to pee my bikini bottoms.

Then Jasper is pulling Alice up from the sand with both of his hands gripped onto her forearms. They're having one of their silent conversations where his eyebrows are scrunched together and his cheeks are kind of red, but then he sighs, and Alice does, too. I just lie in the sand and watch Alice explain herself in gestures and motions, until Jasper gets frustrated and says, "Are you fucking dense?"

Now we're all laughing again.

Garrett comes around and helps me to my feet. The circle around the fight has spread out a little bit. Edward and Jake are off of their backs, and Jake is stepping away, asking what he did wrong. His hands are up and defensive, and it's apparent he doesn't want to fight anymore.

Edward's still pumped for a fight. His eyes are darker than ever and on fire. He has a cut above his right eyebrow and his bottom lip is busted. He wipes away some blood with the back of his thumb before pulling off his hoodie and tossing it to the side. He beckons Jake forward, and while Jake doesn't back down, he doesn't move from his spot ten feet away from my boy.

So Edward goes to him instead.

It's not funny anymore. The kind of brutality Edward is unleashing on Jake is frightening. He's relentless and unforgiving, like he has a sudden power he didn't own before. Edward is beating Jake with some kind of super strength, and there is no sign that he is going to stop. There is blood on his fists and arms. Blood drips over his eye from the cut above his eyebrow, and down his chin from the cut in his lip. His eyes are lost … gone. And his movements seem unguided and erratic, but forceful and effective.

Jasper's holding Alice back, and Garrett has a hold of my wrist again, but he isn't keeping me from going to Edward, he's keeping me from falling to my knees. My head is spinning caused by the utter loss of control. The blank look on Edward's face as he continues to punch Jake Black brings back those feelings I had earlier—change, separation, conflict.

Through the years, there have been so many different times I've thought to myself, _I will not be the same after this, _and never has that been more true than now.

Petey and Ben eventually break the fight up. After they've managed to pull Edward back onto his own two feet, it takes him a moment to come back. He looks so fierce and so detached, and so unemotional, but then he just snaps out of it. Edward pushes Petey and Ben off of him. He wipes his bloody lips again, and laughs. He laughs, and so does everyone else.

Edward walks up to Jake again, whose face is busted and bleeding, and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Are we good?" Edward asks. Jake nods. Then Edward smiles and places his lips right beside Jake's ears and whispers something. Jake Black's face changes, like he suddenly understands. He even looks over at me, but not for long.

The moment is surreal. The beach party is silent with the exception of the burning fire. Not even the Sluts make a sound.

"I'm fucking bleeding." Edward rubs his nose and looks at Pete. "We should go swimming, right?"

Sharing the same look as Edward, Petey grabs Kim and tosses her over his shoulder. Her scream-giggle manages to break the spell we're all under, relaxing the mood of the party.

Then Edward's jogging … toward me.

I hold my hands up and say, "Edward, no! I have my sweater—" but it's too late. He swoops me up in one swift motion and tosses me over his shoulder like Petey has Kim.

He gives me bloody kisses when we're under water.

.

.

.

"Are you prepared for this?"

It's the first day of school, and as I sit inside of my father's cruiser, looking up at the building which seconds as the battleground to my inner peace, I smile. Because while I may be nervous, I am so ready.

I wiggle my toes inside of my gold-glitter flats and push a lock of hair behind my ear. "I'm good, Dad."

Leaning over, I kiss Charlie's cheek before opening the car door and stepping out.

I flatten out my pale-yellow skirt, tighten up my backpack, and hold my head up.

Things will not be the same this time around. I've mastered what Edward and I have. My performance is flawless. I won't spend the year neglecting bathrooms and hallways.

This year, I'm ready.


	17. Liar

**We do not own Twilight. But we do own Dusty.**

**Lovelybrutal is our beta.**

**Mumford and Sons – Liar: **_I know that things are broken. I know there's too many words left unsaid. You say you have spoken, like the coward I am, I hang my head. You lay careless, your head on my chest. You don't even look at me looking my best. And all these things I can't describe, you would rather I didn't try. _

_But please, don't cry you liar._

…

_Oh please, don't cry you liar_

_And you lean in for your last kiss. Who in the world can ask me to resist? Your hands cold as they find my neck … oh, this love I have found, I detest. _

**Chapter 16 – Bliss**

I know he's here—I can feel him. He's down the hall, standing against his locker. He's laughing—I can hear him. He's carrying on a conversation with Petey and Ben. He knows I'm here, too—he always does. I pass by without looking in his direction. He stares at me as I walk past him—sometimes he can't help himself. I can't hear what Leah's saying because my heart beat is echoing in my ears—it does that when he's around.

So I say, "What?" And Leah says, "I can't believe you wore heels to school. It's October."

I stop and laugh. It's true. I wore heels in October. I couldn't help it. It's my birthday, and every girl should wear heels on her birthday. Mom wasn't too thrilled when I came downstairs in a pair of black skinnies and black peep-toes this morning, but I filled her in on my birthday-heels theory, and she played along.

Leah's class is before mine, so I drop her off and keep going. Only, I have to use the restroom.

I don't hesitate to walk in.

Of course Victoria's in here, smoking a cigarette, standing on the sink so she can blow smoke out of the tiny window. She looks the same everyday: hoodie, jeans, Chucks. And she says the same thing every time I see her: "Little sister!"

"Hey, Vic," I mumble, setting my folder on the sink, wiping mascara out from under my eyes.

Victoria takes one last drag from her cigarette and jumps down, running water over the butt before she throws it in the trash. "You look cute," she says, hip bumping me, sharing my mirror. "It's your birthday, right? You're what, thirteen?"

_I hate her. _

"Fifteen," I say.

Her eyes widen, and she smiles. "Holy shit, where the fuck has the time gone?"

While I apply some some peach lip gloss to my lips, Victoria plays with my hair. I'm used to it. She thinks we're friends. She talks to me. She tries to confide. And who knows, maybe if it weren't for Edward, we might have been friends. It's not like she's aware of me and my boy; no one is. Except for him and I. But for me, that's justification enough to hate her. I hate that she thinks she's in love with him. He told me she said so. She told me she said so. She also told me it was a total fluke, because she was caught in the moment.

I asked Edward what _moment_ she was talking about. He said it was nothing.

I smile and nod while she tells the story about how fucked up she got this weekend. Edward stayed in, so I'm not afraid of his name popping up in this conversation. Instead she talks about Ben, and it's kind of odd.

"Wait," I say, "you hooked up with Ben?"

I don't know why I'm shocked. Victoria may believe she's in love with Edward, but she's never been exclusive to that so-called love. There's a reason her and her friends are called the Sluts. And I've always assumed she's been with both Ben and Petey, but I've never heard it out loud. It's weird.

"Well, yeah," she says, grabbing her backpack. She sticks a piece of gum into her mouth. "It wasn't a big deal, though. It was whatever."

I don't know why I ask, but I do. "So you've been with Ben, Edward, and Petey? Why?"

Victoria doesn't answer at first. I almost feel bad for asking. And even though my heart is on fire for including Edward's name on that list, by the look on Victoria's face, hers may be burning hotter. She seems stripped, distant, and soiled. Her face is blank and her eyes are far gone. She runs her hand through her long black hair and sighs.

But then she smiles. "I don't hook up with Petey. No one does. He's Kim's."

"Oh," I say.

Things are a little uncomfortable until Victoria says, "Besides, why would I need Petey's dick when I have Ben's … and Edward's?"

When she's gone, I stare at my reflection in the mirror for a good two minutes, reminding myself that I am better than her. _You can do this_, I repeat in my head. _You do it everyday. _

_And today you are that much closer to eighteen. _

I run my fingers through my curls and take one more look in the mirror before grabbing my folder and leaving the ladies' room. When I open the swing door, Edward is waiting for me across the hall. He's leaning back against the wall, crooked smile and all. His hair is a little bit crazy, and his eyes are all black, but he is so gorgeous and so mine.

"You're late for class," I say, taking the few steps to fill the distance between us. My heels tap, tap, tap on the tile. He looks at my feet and smiles.

Edward moves away from the wall, righting his backpack and meeting me halfway. He smells like Double Mint gum and cherry-almond. His grin is mischievous and disobedient. My guy touches my cheek and kisses my forehead.

"I've been thinking about fucking you with those shoes on all day long," he whispers into my ear.

I laugh and push him away from me. "What are you doing?"

Our relationship has changed a lot since Edward's birthday. He isn't so careful with me anymore. Although he hoards my naturalness, insistent on keeping me intact and untasted, his language is dangerous and rich. He isn't afraid to communicate what's on his mind. Edward tells me where he wants to kiss me and how hard. Or like right now, he wants to fuck me, so he says so.

And maybe I like it.

He touches me … all of the time. But even that can be frustrating. Because while Edward will vocalize what he wants, he never acts on any of it. I've never seen him bare, and no part of him has ever been inside of me.

Well, other than his crazy-stupid-love.

I want more, and today is my birthday, so he should give me what I want.

I look around the hall to make sure we're alone. When I know we're safe, I grab Edward by the collar of his shirt and say, "Do it."

"What? Fuck you?"

"Yeah."

He takes my hand and leads me off of school grounds.

.

.

.

There are a lot of great things about Edward's Continental, but the best thing of all is the size of the back seat. On TV and in the movies, a teenage couple will mess around in the backseat of some small vehicle, elbowing and kneeing each other because they can't move around. Then there's always that scene where they giggle and bump heads, unable to get their clothes completely off. It's so clichéd, and so not us.

Edward's lips are on my throat and his tongue is on my skin. My shirt is off, but my bra, pants, and heels remain. The windows are foggy, but there's plenty of leg room. No one gets elbowed, and we don't bump heads.

I touch his sides under his shirt and pierce my fingernails into his back. I open my legs wider in an effort to get him to move deeper. I need him closer. "Edward," I utter as he moves down my chest.

He pushes my bra down and rubs his lips over my nipple.

"Come on," I encourage.

"Come on, what, Bella?" he asks, reaching behind me to unhook my bra.

I arch my back and let him slip the black fabric down my arms. He tosses it, and it lands over the bench seat. Between my legs, Edward sits up on his knees and pulls his shirt over his head. I bite my lip and smile. He hooks his hand under my knee before leaning back down, hovering over me. My nipples are hard, barely touching his unclothed chest.

"Do you really want our first time to be in the back of the car, baby?" Edward hooks my right leg over his shoulder and pushes himself against me; I close my eyes and moan.

Edward slides his left hand under my free thigh, drawing under my other knee and bringing that leg over his shoulder, too.

He pushes against me again, and I practically scream.

"No, Bliss," he says, pushing harder—pounding. My breasts move up and down, and my face starts to tingle. "We won't be like that."

I claw at his arms and turn my head as my entire body lights up. I can feel how strong he is with every thrust. I can feel how good his sex will be. I want his strength. I want him to use it on me. The muscles in his arms flex every time he moves, and I love the way his eyebrows scrunch and his lips pout. How can I not want him? He's perfect. Backseat or bed, I need this feeling always.

"Please!" I urge, coming undone.

"No." Edward pulls my head back by my hair and bites me where my neck meets my shoulder. "No, baby."

Then I remember: _"__Why would I need Petey's dick when I have Ben's … and Edward's?" _

I push the palms of my hands into his face, but he doesn't stop the movement in his hips, and the tingles only become more dominant.

When pushing his face doesn't work, I hit him in the chest and pull his hair.

I'm conflicted. I want him to stop, but I also want him to go further. "Show me you love me," I groan, lifting my head and biting his cheek.

My left leg falls from his shoulder. I wrap it around his waist and dig the heel of my shoe into the back of his thigh. I want him to hurt like I do, even if it isn't the same. It won't ever be the same, because I can't do what he does: the drugs, the girls, the lies.

"I am," he says. His face looks torn … which he probably is. "This is me showing I love you, baby Bliss. Can't you see that?"

I stop fighting, but Victoria's words echo in my thoughts. So I circle my hips and dig for his connection. I hold onto his arms and bury my face in his chest. I whisper his name as my body detonates and sets off.

"Tell me," he says softly into my ear. "Tell me."

"I love you," I answer between stars and tingles and arched backs and foggy windows.

He rides with me until it's over and I can hardly breathe. He smiles against my cheek and kisses my collar bone. Edward finds my hand and links our fingers. He moves hair away from my forehead and tells me how fucking beautiful I am. Sunshine lights his face through the misty glass. His cheeks are slightly red, and he's all the way hard between my legs.

I'm listening to him tell me, "Happy birthday, backseat baby," when I reach down and try to touch him, but he moves my hand away.

Edward laughs. He touches the edge of my breast and smiles. "Bliss," he warns.

"What?" I snap. I try to touch him again, and again he moves my hand.

I try again.

He's more forceful and pins my wrist to the seat beside my head.

"What the fuck is your problem, Bella?" He's mad, but only for a second. Then he's back to normal. Sunlight-lit and blushed, he dips down and kisses my swollen lips. "We don't fight on birthdays, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember. It's a rule," I say sarcastically.

I kiss him back, giving him what he wants—what I need. I press my chest against his and love it when his arm circles under my lower back. His hips aren't moving anymore, but I can still feel how hard he is. He won't let me touch him; he never does. We play by his rules; we always have.

And sometimes it's hard to forget.

It's hard to play this role.

Sometimes I just need him.

I grab a fistful of his hair, and when he groans, I place my face so close to his our lips only slightly touch. "Where in the rules does it say it's okay to fuck Victoria?"

He doesn't bother answering. He doesn't bother to do anything but conceal his face in my neck. I keep a hold of his hair and pull when he gives me nothing.

"Answer me," I say, pushing at his shoulders. "Edward!"

He sits up, staying between my knees. He rubs his hands over his face and reaches into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. I want to kick him in the face with my heel, but I don't. I just stare while he stares, lighting his smoke.

I detest this part of us. He makes me feel so out of character and unidentifiable. There's anger swirling in the pit of my stomach, and an ache that's slowly consuming my heart and spirit. There's anxiety in my chest, that when things between me and Edward aren't good, spreads down into my arms. He causes hurt in my jaw and pain behind my eyes. I suffer.

Fumes fill the cab of the car with every drag he takes. He's still looking at me, probably contemplating what he's going to say to convince me what I heard this time isn't true. And I'll believe him. Partly because it's hard to really know, but mostly because his lies are what I want to hear.

I sit up and find my bra. Edward keeps my right foot in his lap, with the other behind his back. While I'm refastening lace onto my chest, he lifts my heel and kisses my peeping toes.

"I love these fucking shoes," he finally speaks up.

I sit back, with only my bra on. I try to pull my foot back, but he doesn't let me, and I don't fight him. "She said—" I start.

"Bella, come the fuck on," he mumbles.

Edward opens the door and lets all of the smoke out. He takes one last drag of his cigarette and tosses that out, too. The October air is crisp on my heated skin, but it feels good. It's clarifying and freeing, alleviating some of the tension in my arms and joints.

I'm not afraid we'll be seen. It's too cold to go out onto the dock, but no one's on this side of the beach this time of year anyway. And I love the smell. The sea salt breeze reminds me of better times: ditched school days and early, early mornings. Edward and I have spent a lot of time here lately. Like when his room gets too small in the middle of the night and we need to get out; we always make it back before the sun comes up. Or when one of us can't handle school for a moment longer; there are never any words as to where we are going while we run through the school parking lot and jet to his car. It's always here. It's the only place either of us ever want to come.

One night, a few weeks ago, Edward smoked too much and he was so funny. He made me laugh until my belly hurt, until my eyes cried, and I begged him to _"Stop! Please, stop!"_ My laughs floated in the beach waves and circled in the ocean night. I ate Twinkies and drank Coke slushies despite the cold, and he smoked and made me laugh-happy. Then he calmed and got so, so sweet it hurt. He chased me to the shore, wrote _I love you_ in the sand, and said, "This is the sappiest shit I've ever done, cry-eyed baby."

This place feels tainted with times like this.

So I start again. "She said, 'Why would I need Petey's dick when I have Edward's?'"

I've tested his patience, and now he's run out. Edward slams the car door shut and turns to me. He grabs my face from under my chin and forces me to look into my eyes. A little ring of blue surrounds dilated black, and I miss their normality so bad. I miss his clear mind, and his blue, blue eyes.

My back hits the car door and my head hits the window. Not hard. He's controlling how I move, and he isn't trying to hurt me—he's trying to persuade.

"Don't talk like that, Bella. Do you fucking understand me?"

"Yes," I spit, reaching up and wrapping my small hand around his wrist. I don't try to pull his hand away. At least he's giving me something.

But he lets go and sits back, bringing both of my feet back into his lap. "I stayed home last weekend, didn't I?"

"I think she means in general, Edward."

"Babe, I didn't mess around with Victoria."

.

.

.

Edward smokes a joint on the drive back to school. We ride with all of the windows down, and I stick my hand out, dipping it up and down in the drive-time breeze. The air is cold and stings my eyes, but it feels good—energizing. The music is at the perfect volume; Brandon Boyd's voice is smooth and sedating. I lean my head back and hum Stellar's tune while my boy reaches over and squeezes my knee. I should be more thoughtful about my clothes smelling like pot, but I can't bring myself to care. I love watching him smoke. I like the way he holds his joint between his thumb and pointer finger. I love the way his eyes squint. I can always tell when his high hits him, too. His sometimes-too-critical facial expression turns silly, his smile becomes a little more bending, and his posture slacks some. He isn't so tense. He isn't so worried. He just is.

As soon as we hit Forks' city limits, Edward puts what left of his roach out. He leaves the windows down and drives slow and steady. We get back to school fifteen minutes before the bell rings, signaling the end of the school day. My guy pulls into the parking lot and cruises to the back where no one will see me get out. I'll be able to walk right in, and when I meet up with Alice, she'll think I just came out of Algebra II.

When he's parked, Edward gets out. I check my make-up in the visor mirror while I wait for him to walk over and open my door. He opens the back door first and grabs my backpack. Then he opens my door and grabs my hand. He pulls me up to my feet and pretends he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't. Edward moves me to the side and sits me on the hood of his Continental. The engine is warm, burning my thighs through my jeans … but like everything else, I don't care.

The palms of his hands are on the sides of my neck. He moves my head back and kisses my jaw bone. Edward smells like marijuana and birthday-backseat-love.

"I'll see you later tonight, birthday girl," he whispers into my ear before biting my earlobe and kissing my temple. "After practice."

He lets me slip off of the car and helps me put my backpack on. He laughs because my shirt is a little stretched, and he says, "Your hair looks like you've just been fucked."

"Well, I haven't been," I say, just joking, smoothing my hair down.

Edward smacks my ass as I walk away, saying, "Be careful for what you wish for, Isabella Bliss."

.

.

.

"Wash it off."

This is one of those times I really feel like screaming. I feel like cussing or hitting something. I want to slam my bedroom door in her face and call her a name. I want to insist on some fucking space. I want to tell her, "No, I won't wash it off, because I'm fifteen years old and I should be able to wear this much make up if I want!"

I want to groan and pull my hair and cry and throw a fit until I get my way, because I look pretty. What does she take me for? I'm not that girl. She should know. I'm her daughter. She knows me.

Kinda.

Sorta.

I'm not _that_ girl, but I'm this girl. Just because my mom can't appreciate what a little blush and mascara will do doesn't mean I don't. It's a little eye shadow, but I don't look bad. It's a little lipstick, but I don't look overdone. I look older. It's what I was hoping for.

"But I'm just going to Alice's, Mom," I say weakly, already knowing I've lost this battle.

I wonder what she would do if one day I intentionally put up a fight. I've always only ever done what my parents want me to do.

Kinda.

Sorta.

What would her reaction be if I said no instead of doing as she asked? Their hold on me is already so constricting, I don't even want to think about how tight it would get if I started acting out.

"Bella, wash your face or you're not going anywhere." Mom drops her purse and keys on the coffee table and sits down, showing me how serious she is.

I feel claustrophobic. Their rules and expectations are strangling me. She wants me to remain a little girl forever, but here I am, fifteen ready to be eighteen. Ready to get out of here.

It's why I need the Cullens so badly. I need the margin they offer, even if it's only for the weekend. They supply me with room to breathe, where my parents are watching my every move. Alice and Edward might make some wrong decisions, but at least they're allowed to make their own mistakes. I still get crap about listening to music with curse words in the lyrics. My mother gives me unfavorable looks if I wear something she doesn't approve of. My dad flashes his stupid badge every time he drops me off at school. I'm not allowed in the car with Edward, I'm not allowed to be on the phone after eight, and I'm apparently not allowed to wear eyeshadow.

This is just another reason why Edward and I need to remain a secret.

No boys until I'm seventeen. That's the house rule. My dad thinks boys are a distraction, and my mom believes they're only after one thing. They can't believe that Carlisle and Esme allow Alice to be in such a serious relationship. My mom appreciates my friendship with Garrett. But no, no boyfriends. Not even Garrett. Even though I'm sure he's who she would choose for me. Who knows, if I came to them with Garrett, they might even make an exception to this seventeen rule.

But if my mom and dad were to learn about me and Edward, everything would be taken away. My weekends and school vacations out of this house would be gone, and I'd be stuck here, under their microscope.

And maybe that would be okay if they'd let me keep Edward, but they wouldn't. I don't know what my dad would do. I don't really know if Edward would get in any kind of trouble or not, but I wouldn't be surprised if they made me switch schools. My phone would be gone, and the little independence I do have. I'd never be allowed back over to Alice's. I don't even know if they'd let me be her friend.

All of that is not something I can risk. Not yet. Not at fifteen.

So I wash my face.

But I stash my compact in my purse, because fuck her.

.

.

.

Out of all of the birthdays I've spent with Alice, this is the first one spent like this. No decorations, no cake, no parents. Just booze, friends, music, and an empty bottle.

After my mom dropped me off at Alice's doorstep, I went straight into her bedroom and reapplied my make-up. I put on the electric blue mini-skirt Esme bought for me, pulled the black tank-top over my head, and slipped my feet back into the peep-toe heels I wore to school. My best friend looked at me like I lost my mind, but she said my tits and ass looked pretty fucking remarkable.

She's wearing boyfriend jeans and one of Jasper's Free the West Memphis Three shirts.

We're so ironic.

Edward had baseball practice after school today, so I haven't heard from him. He said he would be here, but has yet to show up. And after two shots and a Captain and Sprite, I'm not too worried about it. I keep my phone close, but my friends closer. Lauren, Paul, Leah, Jasper and Garrett are all happily here, helping me celebrate.

We're in the kitchen, and I'm sitting at the table with Alice in my lap. We've been drinking for a couple of hours now and the exhilaration level is high. The music is loud, but the conversation and laughter are louder. We gossip about school, and Alice gossips about the sex she and Jasper had the day before. He blushes, but doesn't stop her from talking.

_I'm so envious of their relationship sometimes. _

Since Esme accompanied Carlisle on a business trip this week, she wasn't around to buy me a cake like she usually does. So instead, Alice bought a shit-ton of Twinkies and stacked them three tiers high.

It's what dreams are made of.

"So are we doing this or what?" Alice leans her head back on my shoulder and stares at me expectantly.

I take a drink of the 7 and ginger Garrett made for me and smile. "Do you really want my first kiss to happen during a game of spin the bottle, Alice?"

_Little does she know... _

Garrett's looking at me from across the kitchen, where he's leaned against the stove. I don't know why I notice, but I do. He has a red cup in his hand and liquor-glossy eyes. He smiles, like I've just confirmed something he's always feared. I smile back, but look away when Alice turns around in my lap, straddling my hips.

She takes my face in her hands and kisses me.

I laugh at first, because, come on, she's kissing me. She's laughing, too, but then she slips her tongue into my mouth and stops. Everyone is laughing, and my heart is double back flip beating. I kiss her back, I guess. It's awkward and soft compared to her older brother. I can tell she isn't kissing me like she would kiss Jasper. She's kissing me like she would kiss her best friend who's never been kissed.

I open my eyes and Alice's are closed. I don't really know what to do with my hands, so I place them on her sides. It's been a while … a minute or two, but we don't stop. She tastes like lipstick and spiced rum. Alice is smaller than what I'm used to from her brother. She's tender, less firm, and a great kisser. There is depth and love and importance behind her lips. And while there is nothing more than friendship here, I'm glad that Alice's mouth is something I never missed out on.

In the back of my mind, I think about Edward, but he makes my heart beat stupid, so I shift thoughts. Our tongues are moving and everyone's still cheering us on. Jasper knows better than to be mad; Alice is always this unpredictable. But then our teeth hit and we start laughing. Alice pulls away and wipes her mouth off before reaching in and kissing me one more time sugar sweetly.

"There. Now you've had your first kiss," she says, like she's done me a favor.

I don't know what to do, so I start laughing. I don't stop until everyone's sitting around the table with an empty glass Coca-Cola bottle in the center. I want to be saved from this. I don't want to kiss anyone other than Edward. So I excuse myself and run up to the bathroom across from Alice's bedroom.

He doesn't answer the first time I call.

He does the second time, though.

Wherever he is, it's loud. Too loud. I can't hear him very well, so I hang up and turn my phone off. He's supposed to be here, and if that's not important enough, well, I guess trying to find a way out of this stupid game isn't either.

After hiding my phone in the bottom of my overnight bag, I head back downstairs and take my seat between Alice and Garrett. Jasper, Lauren, Leah, and Paul occupy the other seats, ready to play. I've had too much to drink, but I gulp down what's left in my cup and hand it to Garrett for a refill anyway. He asks me if I'm sure, and I answer him with a look. I'm not sure about anything, but I'm sure I want out of my own head. I want to forget my heart belongs to a boy who sometimes makes me feel like I'm not enough. I want to be here, having fun, forgetting the rest of the day. I need to block out my parents,Victoria, and that stupid fucking restroom conversation we had today. I'll drink away places so loud I can't hear his voice.

Maybe I need to be kissed.

Garrett hands me my drink and sits down. He's handsome, like stupid cute. He and Claire never got back together, and that's a shame … for her. I know he likes me. I've never really wished for the ability to like him back, but who knows. I mean, would it be so bad?

Maybe it would work.

Probably not.

He catches me looking and pushes his chair closer to mine. He's gotten so tall, but he isn't skinny. He's built, skater boy buff, and his smile is to die for. Under his beanie, his hair has gotten longer, but it isn't intentional. He just hasn't cut it in a while. He'd rather skate.

"I'll spin first!" Alice yells, reaching over the table.

She starts off in her own seat, but after she's kissed Lauren, and Lauren has kissed Leah, and Leah kissed Paul, Alice ends up on Jasper's lap. When it's my turn, I take a huge drink from my cup and lean over the table. The room has a slight tilt of its own, and I kind of, sort of know I should slow down with the drinking. I ignore my inner warnings and spin.

It lands on Jasper.

Everyone starts laughing, including me and Alice.

"Shouldn't there be a rule against best friends kissing best friend's boyfriend?" I say, pulling my hair up into a messy ponytail.

Jasper looks uncertain and he's sober. He's always been kind of straight edge. He smokes sometimes, and I've seen him drink a few beers, but I think he likes to look over his girl, who is too drunk and smoking a cigarette.

"I stole them from Dusty!" she says when she catches me looking. Alice puffs on the smoke at the corner of her lips and says, "Just fucking do it."

So me and Jasper kiss.

It's quick. No tongue, hardly any lips, and strictly for the game.

We get booed.

By Alice.

Now it's Jasper's turn to spin. It lands on himself, therefore landing on Alice. She spins in his lap like she did with me earlier, hands me the half-burnt cigarette, and dry humps her boyfriend while she kisses his lips in front of everyone. They kiss for a really long time, so we decide to play without them. And since it turns out that Garrett is the only one who hasn't spun or been kissed, he's voted to take the next turn.

I kick off my shoes under the table and sit on my feet while I watch his bottle spin, spin, spin. My cup is gone, so I pout and take his. Garrett's is much stronger than mine, so I sip on it until the bottle comes to a complete stop … in front of Paul. Since we all agreed that the boys shouldn't have to kiss each other, he spins again, and this time it lands on me.

When Alice hears Leah scream, "Oh my God, I cannot wait to see this!" she turns around squeaks. "This is a long time coming," she says.

But this isn't the same as kissing Jasper. This is more. This will mean more to Garrett and every one watching, and if Edward finds out, it will mean more to him.

But at this point should I really care what Edward thinks? He does this to me constantly, if not more. And it may mean something more to Garrett, but it won't mean anything to me. My heart beats for one person, one love only. As stupid as that love might be, it's only Edward's. I can kiss this boy and come out the other side unmoved.

So I turn in my seat and face Garrett. He smiles and a little excitement sparks in my heart, but also a little fear. I like the idea of being untouched by anyone but Edward, even though I'm not granted the same regard from him. I don't really want to do this.

I don't.

_Why couldn't he just be here like he was supposed to be? _

"Are you sure?" Garrett asks, and it's so like him to be this considerate. He's giving me an out.

Instead of saying no like I want to, I just nod and lean in. Garrett meets me halfway and our lips touch. The kiss is a lot like the one I just shared with Jasper, but this one is warmer and softer. It isn't so quick, it's rock steady. He doesn't open his mouth, and neither do I, but there is an unexpected impact behind this kiss. It scares me, so I immediately back away.

"Oh, come on!" Alice laughs. "I wanted to see some spit and tongue, Bliss."

I ignore her and spin the bottle. It lands on Garrett, and this time, he doesn't give me time to think about it. I can't process anything but the feel of his mouth.

_So fucking warm. _

He tastes like spiced booze and goodness. He's sweet, literally, like I can taste his thoughts. He feels good, just not good enough, but good enough for right now. _I'm out of my princess mind._ I can hear my friends cheering, and I think I hear Alice wolf-whistle. Something in me unhinges, and I simply give in and give up. I push Edward into the furthest corner of my consciousness and move in on Garrett. I wrap my arms around his neck and sit up on my knees on the chair.

There is consequence behind this kiss.

But I don't care.

Kind of.

Sort of.

_Make me forget him,_ I think. _Make me stop loving him. _

Too bad it doesn't work that way. And the thought of not loving Edward any more hurts. So I kiss Garrett harder. I push him back into his chair and kiss him heavier. I groan against his lips and pull on his shirt. No one is laughing anymore. I kind of, sort of hear Alice say, "Holy shit, she was holding out on me."

I'm into it. As much as I can be, anyway. He isn't Edward, so I could never give myself over to this. I'm only partway here. I'm only giving him my aggression—no affection. It's impossible, but I still try to force it.

_Just be here,_ I think to myself. _Be here, with this boy, in this moment. _

But I can't, and it only makes me angry.

And maybe I get it, because I remember Bree's words: "_Cullen's got something crazy pent up inside __him."_

Turns out, so do I.

But that doesn't make what Edward does right.

He's a liar.

But so am I.

So what does that make us?

My stomach begins to flip when Garrett starts touching my face. I hate it, so I move his hands away and say, "Stop" against his lips.

Then I hear the front door being unlocked, and baseball boys, and laughter.

As quickly as I can, leaving Garrett and the rest of the party a little stunned, I fall back into my chair. My cheeks are blazing-red, and my eyes are watering. I take a drink from Garrett's cup and hold myself together. I can feel Garrett's lips on mine still, and in Edward's approaching presence, I feel worse than dirty.

"What the fuck?" I hear Edward say from the front door. His tone is a little bit silly, but suddenly a whole lot of unplayful.

I want to disappear. I wish the floor would open up and capture me. I wish so badly I would have said no when Garrett asked me if I was sure. I wish I was up in my guy's room, safe under his covers. I wish he was still the only boy I've ever kissed.

I can never unkiss Garrett.

Ever.

After putting on a courageous expression, I turn and face the party crashers. Baseball-practice-filthy, all three of them have their hats on backwards. Their knees are clay-dirt caked, and Edward has his cleats on still. Petey makes it to the table first, and he starts to laugh. Ben pulls my ponytail and tells me happy birthday.

At the kitchen entrance way, where he's standing still, Edward's eyes catch mine, and he knows. He just knows.

"Sorry we're late, princess kid," he says, moving into the kitchen and opening the fridge. He stares into it for a while, but I can see how white his knuckles are, and I can see the anger in his too-black eyes.

With the arrival of the boys, my birthday party has gone quiet. Alice is unaffected, and she spins the bottle since Garrett isn't touching it, but when it lands on Paul, she says, "Aww, fuck it," and gives up.

Then Edward is behind me. His hands are on my chair. He's looking at the table. He's looking at the bottle, and at Garrett, and everyone else, but especially Garrett.

"This is so fucking stupid," he says, snatching Alice's drink and smelling it.

"Leave us alone, Edward." She reaches for her cup, but he turns away and pours it down the sink.

Petey and Ben are standing against the kitchen counter, waiting for Edward to make the call.

And he does.

"Everyone get the fuck out of my house." His voice is low-level, steady, and so commanding.

Alice turns to her brother, telling everyone to sit the fuck down when they stand up. "What the hell, Dusty? You knew I was having people over for Bliss' birthday."

Edward has the palms of his hands on the counter, and his head is hanging down between his shoulders. I can fell his tension from my seat. My heart is beating so hard, and so fast, it feels like it might just stop, and I might just die. I feel shameful. I feel like I've betrayed him. I feel like I want my friends to get the fuck out like he asked them to so I can fix this.

"I was supposed to be here, Alice," Edward finally says. "To watch you."

"Yeah, at ten. It's two o'clock in the morning, Edward." Alice walks over to her brother, but I don't watch her go. I keep my head down and listen when she says, "You ruined her birthday, asshole."

He laughs, and I close my eyes. Garrett touches my arm, but I move it away.

"She's like, ten years old. She'll get over it." And as soon as he says it, I know it's a jab intended for me. "Did you get your first kiss, Bliss?" Edward asks.

I don't answer.

"I bet you did, princess. Was it so fucking sweet?"

I turn around in my seat, and I'm about to tell Edward to go fuck himself, but I don't get a chance. Alice is yelling at her brother, but then she just stops. She holds her stomach, and we all hold our breath. Petey grabs the trash can, because he knows what's coming next, but he isn't fast enough.

Alice pukes all over the kitchen floor.

I push myself out of my seat, and my footing is less steady-going than I thought it would be. I stumble, but catch myself on my best friend just as she pukes again. I hold her hair back, fighting my own stomach. The smell is a lot to handle, and Edward's glare is even worse. When he slams the kitchen cupboard shut, I jump and Alice calls him a bastard between dry heaves. By this time, Petey has made it to us with the garbage can and Ben is throwing towels over her mess.

Edward's holding the back door open. His face is ridged-mean and his posture is violent.

Lauren, Paul, and Leah get up without another word, but Garrett remains in his seat, and Jasper lingers around me, Alice, and Petey.

"I'm taking her to the bathroom," Petey says quietly, leading Alice out of the kitchen.

Ben is searching for the floor cleaner, and Edward's still waiting by the door for Jasper and Garrett to leave.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?" Edward asks impatiently.

"We're going." Garrett drinks what's left in his cup and scoots his chair back.

Edward smiles, and I know what it means, so I put myself between them. "I'll walk you out." I say, super-slurred and a little blurry eyed.

"Don't leave the fucking driveway, Bella," Edward warns before walking away from the door and out the kitchen.

The walk to Jasper's brother's car is quiet. We're not sixteen, so none of us are legally allowed to drive, but Jasper's been borrowing his brother's vehicle for a while now. He hasn't been drinking, and he doesn't live too far; I know he'll be fine.

"I'll have Alice call you in the morning," I say to Jazz.

He nods and gets in the car. And before Garrett can say anything about the kiss, I turn around and run back up the driveway.

"Oh, my fuck. It smells so bad," Ben complains, pulling stomach-soaked towels from the floor. Edward's with him, holding open a garbage bag.

"Go to bed, Bella," Edward says. I don't fight it and just go. "And put some fucking clothes on," he adds while I'm stumbling my way upstairs.

Once I'm up, the first thing I see is Petey holding Alice over the sink. Her eyes aren't open, but she's awake, spitting out toothpaste while Pete tries to brush her teeth.

"A little help?" he asks, holding the toothbrush for me.

I'm cleaning her mouth, dodging blue suds when she spits. Alice gags some, and we hold back until we know she won't puke again. Once her mouth is rinsed, I help him carry her to bed. I take off her shoes and slip Alice out of her pants. Petey doesn't really watch, but he stands back to make sure she's okay. We wait until she's snoring, then Petey speaks.

"You guys really fucked up."

"Why?" I ask, leaning back on the bed next to my girl.

Petey grabs one of my feet and puts it in his lap. He falls back on the bed and stares up at the ceiling. "You're drinking and kissing boys without us around. Did you honestly think that shit was okay?"

"I wasn't aware we needed a babysitting crew."

He sits up, and his face is uncharacteristically firm. "Well, fucking know it next time, Bella."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever."

"Hey, don't give me that shit. We've always looked out for you guys, and you might trust them, but we don't."

I laugh, like loudly. "I'm pretty sure you're the ones who shouldn't be trusted."

He shakes his head and lies back down. "Maybe, but not with you two. Shit isn't the same with you and Alice."

.

.

.

I must have fallen asleep because I don't remember Petey leaving the room, and I really don't remember Edward coming in.

"Get up," he says, a silhouette in the doorway.

"I can't leave."

"She's fine." Then he's gone.

I tip toe down the hallway. Edward's bedroom door is open and the TV is on. Downstairs looks completely dark; Petey and Ben must have left. My head hurts, but my body feels worse. I'm still drunk, and it's not fun anymore. I feel sluggish and tired. My hair feels dirty and my skin feels gross. I want to change out of these clothes and shower before I have this argument with Edward, but as soon as I walk into his room and see him standing in front of the window, I know that's not going to happen.

I shut the door and sit on the bed.

Edward doesn't say anything, so I do.

"Where were you when I called?"

"Getting some shit," he answers.

I sigh, not bothering to ask him to elaborate. I lie back on my pillow and look around; my eye catches something odd on the nightstand. I sit up and grab the small baggie. It's filled with a small amount of white powder. I flick the clear plastic. I open it. I smell it. Edward tells me to put it down.

"What is it?" I ask. He comes around and takes it from me.

"Some shit," he says, sticking it into the pocket of his baseball pants.

I stand up and follow him to the window where he's smoking. "Edward, what is it?"

He flicks the cigarette butt out the window and looks at me. "Coke."

"Cocaine?" I'm shocked, but not really. Nothing he does really stuns me anymore. "How long have you been doing this?"

He shrugs. He's wounded. I can tell. His face is sad. I've hurt him. "I don't know, since my birthday, I guess."

"Your birthday? That's funny." I turn to walk away, but Edward grips my wrist.

"Did you kiss him?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I wanted to get you back." I feel good saying it. We're so honest about most things, but never has that honesty been so real.

"For what Victoria said in the bathroom today?" His eyes are so deep and his voice is so raw. He's dying. I'm killing him with my actions.

"Yes."

Edward pulls me down to my knees. He's sitting on his computer chair and I'm kneeling in front of him. His hands shake and his eyes are red-rimmed and wavering.

Our posture, this situation … it all makes me cry.

I'm tired and hurting. I've been hurting for a long time. Our relationship is so fucked up. I feel like I'm deteriorating from the inside out. I can feel myself hardening because of our status. Love is not supposed to be like this, yet, this is all I know and want.

I lean my forehead onto his knee, and he puts his hands on the side of my head. "Look at me, baby."

I shake my head and cry harder.

Edward stands up and lifts me on to my feet. He kisses my temple and my chin. He moves my head back and kisses my lips. I sob louder.

"Don't kiss me," I cry.

He does anyway.

He kisses me hard. It feels good. Nothing matches. Garrett's kiss was a sad second in comparison to how Edward kisses me. There is love and passion behind his lips. Promises of forever and mercifulness. He reclaims me with little nips and open mouths. I'm falling back; my body hits the mattress and Edward is between my legs.

He's kissing me so forcefully, like my lips might rip open and bleed.

I wouldn't care if they did.

I'll bleed for him.

He's pulling down my shirt, and stretches the neck of my tank top until the stitching snaps and the cotton rips. He splits it in two and bites my chest until blood draws and his tongue touches. I scream. Edward lifts his lips, covers my mouth with his hand, and bites me again.

"Do you think I was just going to let him kiss you?" he whispers, biting me a third time, this time on my neck. I don't bleed, but it hurts so good. His bite turns into a kiss, and that kiss turns into a purple-black mark on the side of my throat.

I pull his head back by his hair and attach my lips to the very same spot on his neck. I suck, and suck, and suck, and he lets me. Edward starts moving between my legs, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. I open my eyes, reattaching my lips to the other side of his throat, making a matching mark.

My skirt rides up, getting stuck around my stomach. I find Edward's mouth, and we kiss while we rid ourselves of our clothes. His shirt comes off first, then my bra, then his cleats, then my skirt. He leaves me in black lace, and himself in baseball whites.

Edward palms my breasts and kisses me lost-then-found. "Be my girlfriend," he mumbles against my lips, so quietly I almost think I made it up.

"What?" I ask, arching my back as he moves down to my chest.

"We can tell everyone, I don't give a fuck anymore." he sounds desperate—broken hearted, and I hate that I did this.

Maybe I'm stronger than he is. Maybe I hold all of the power, after all.

"I'll tell my sister in the morning, just don't kiss him again, baby. Please." He's above me, and when I see that he's crying, I start all over again.

I wipe his tears away and whisper, "Don't cry, you liar."

"Be my girlfriend." He's hard between me, moving his hips in slow little circles.

"No." _I can't handle this right now. _

He stops moving. He stops breathing.

"Because of the guy?"

I shake my head. "Because no one can know. Not yet."

"I thought that was what you wanted?"

I don't answer. I turn my head and kiss the inside of his bicep. Being with him is everything I will ever only want, but telling anyone would cost too much right now. I refuse to be his girlfriend when it's my kiss with Garrett that led us to it. I won't be officially his until I am the only one who is his. It's not worth everything I will lose.

When the restroom conversations at school stop, and I can trust him, then I'll be his girlfriend.

"Bella," Edward sobs between clenched teeth. "I can't lose you."

"You're not. I'm here."

"Are you?"

"I'm sorry I kissed him." I look up, just as one of his tears lands on my chest.

"You're sorry?" He laughs, vindictively. "Show me you love me," he repeats my words from earlier.

_What more can I possibly do? _

I get my answer when Edward slips off the bed and takes my lace with him. My heart rate increases and my breathing shallows. He's seen me so many times, but he's never really looked at me like this. His eyes are hooded and his lips are pouty. I try to close my legs, but he parts my knees and holds my legs open wide.

"Don't fucking do that. Don't hide from me." He's unbuckling his belt and unzipping his zipper.

Then he's pulling them down, and I can see him. All of him, and I never have before.

"Oh, shit." I breathe.

He's back between me, and I can feel him rub against my center. I've wanted this for so long, and now that it's here, I'm horrified. Reality is harsh and I'm not ready. My knees shake at his sides, and my eyes water, sending tears down my temples into my hair. I hold onto Edward's shoulders and hide my face in his neck. He's reaching between us, lining himself up.

I can feel him.

Him.

"Edward," I say in a shaky voice. "I love you. Only you, I swear. I swear. Please—"

He's shaking his head, pushing only a little, but it already hurts. I whimper and kiss his shoulder.

Then he really pushes.

I scream. He pushes again.

I scream a second time.

And not only does my body stop him, but so does my voice.

"No!" I sob. "Edward, no. Not like this."

He stops right away. Nothing happened. He wasn't in.

But God, did I want him there.

If things were better.

"I fucked up, right?" he asks, looking down at me. "I fucked up too much?"

"No. You couldn't." I touch his face and clean off his tears. And it's the truth—my sad reality: he could never do anything to make me leave him.

"Then what?"

I don't answer him, because he's still _there_. I want him this way so much; I have for so long … but not tonight. Not like this. Not when we're both this upset. Not when it's because of another boy and another girl. There's so much ruined between us, but this won't be one of those things. I can deal with a lot: the drugs, the parties, his absence. But I refuse to give in to this part unless it's honest, and right now, it's a huge fucking untruth.

"Let me touch you," I whisper, nodding my head, slowly pushing my hand between us. "Please, let me. Please."

He closes his watery eyes and reaches for my hand. I think he's going to stop me, but he doesn't. He leads the way.

Edward has me touch myself first. My body is ready for him. Being physically willing has never been the problem. Even now, after I've said no, the ache is almost too much to handle, and the second our fingers touch me, I sigh in relief.

"It could be so much better, baby," he says, pushing my pointer and middle finer against my clit. Goosebumps raise on my legs and arms. My nipples harden and my voice gets lost somewhere in my throat.

He's slowly kissing the side of my neck, while his own fingers push mine harder, harder, harder. My legs fall wide open and my back curves. My eyes roll and my hands grip the bedsheets. He's kissing my neck more forcefully now, leaving bruises and marks and scratches.

I find my voice and cry out while my body rides his waves.

"Imagine that from the inside, birthday girl." His voice is so raspy and so underdone; I squeeze my eyes shut and cry out again.

When my back hits the mattress again and my eyes open, Edward still has his hand on mine between our bodies. He surprises me by leading it a little further down, until I'm touching him. Until he's showing me how he wants me to hold him.

"Like this," he says, wrapping my fingers around his length. "A little harder, baby."

I'm unsure and uneasy, but he shows me how. He moves my hand, and he feels like melted silk chocolate. I have absolutely nothing to compare him to, but his size is perfect. He feels flawless. And I'm so in love.

Edward drops his forehead onto my shoulder and whispers the sweetest everythings while he slowly circles his hips into my hand. He's steady with his movements at first, but the harder he becomes in my grip, the more harsh his thrusts are. And again, I can feel how good his sex will be, making my decision to wait so much more difficult to tolerate.

I want to see his face, so I turn my head and kiss his face until he looks at me. His eyes are heavy and red from crying. His eyebrows are scrunched and he has his bottom lip between his teeth. Edward's hair is messy and his cheeks are flushed. Like me, his arms are covered in goosebumps and his voice is missing.

He's fucking my hand in long hard strides now, and I watch his face the entire time.

I love the vulnerability and emotion.

I love that this is me he's with.

I love that when his body begins to shake and his voice comes back, it's my name he says.

He kisses me as he comes. Warm liquid shoots onto my stomach and our mouths are both open, sharing breaths in his dark room filled with our half-statements of love and forever.

"Fuck, I love—" he starts, but can't finish.

"Always. Always..." I stop when his eyes meet mine.

When it's over, Edward laughs. So do I. Because what the heck just happened?

My stomach his covered and my hand is messy. But the mood is lighter, and I have no intentions on going back to how we were before this happened, so I dip my hand in his come and wipe it on his chest. He makes a face of disgust before he does the same thing, wiping it on my lips.

I scream, but he kisses me.

.

.

.

It's kind of, sort of odd watching Edward walk around his room completely naked with the exception of his socks. He throws me a discarded shirt to clean off my stomach before lighting a cigarette and opening his window.

I watch him, because I can't not.

"You're staring at my cock, princess," he jokes, only taking a couple of hits before he puts his smoke out and closes the window. He comes to the side of the bed and pulls me to the edge by my ankles. "It's fucking late. Lets take a shower and get some sleep."

The bathroom fills with steam from our a little-too-hot shower. The downpour burns my skin, but in the best way. I feel like it's washing away all of my sins from tonight. I can't take away kissing Garrett, but I can wash him off.

While I'm rinsing out my hair, Edward's eyes open wide. "Shit," he mumbles, laughing. "I hope you have a hoodie, baby girl."

My hand immediately goes to my neck. It's sore, as is the rest of my body, but I remember now. The marks. The bruises. The scratches. Not to mention the bite marks on my chest and arms.

Not to mention his.

Edward reaches for me, and I go to him. He rubs his thumb over my lips and smiles. "I bet you'll think twice before you kiss that boy again."


	18. Little Lion Man

**We do not own Twilight. And you're wrong if you think that this isn't exactly how it is to be young and reckless. **

**YellowGlue, what we write is poetry.**

**LovelyBrutal is our beta girl. **

**Mumford & Sons – Little Lion Man: **_Weep for yourself, my man, you'll never be what is in your heart. Weep Little Lion Man, you're not as brave as you were at the start. Rate yourself and rake yourself, take all the courage you have left wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head. _

**Chapter 17 – Baby Bliss**

What do you mean _'The Sluts are coming?'_" Alice shuts her locker and blows a bubble with her pink Bubble Tape bubblegum.

_Some things never change. _

It's been a week since last Friday. Since I kissed Garrett; since Edward and I had the largest fight of our relationship; since we kissed and _marked_ up. Most of the scratch marks down my legs and back are healed, and the all of the bruises have faded to a yellow-green color, but the hickeys and bite wounds remain. I've worn a hoodie to school everyday this week—I hate it.

I've avoided my parents as much as I can, and I've worn my hair down. No one's seen or mentioned anything, and I told Alice I wasn't feeling good when she asked, "What the fuck?" and pulled on my hoodie strings the other day. But I'm constantly paranoid I'll turn the wrong way and expose my neck, or that my mom will walk into my room while I'm getting dressed.

Edward, on the other hand, caused an uproar when he showed up to school on Monday with his neck all colored up. He had a scratch a cross his cheek I didn't remember, but when we met up behind school after third period that same day, he assured me it was my doing.

"You were fucking crazy, Bliss." He laughed, moving my hoodie hood down. "You loved me so hard."

He kissed over my throat-bruises.

Edward's hickeys were a total whodunit. Victoria was in a shitty mood, the restrooms were filled with chitchat, and every boy in school was checking his girlfriend to make sure she didn't have any battle scars of her own courtesy of my monster.

It was ridiculous.

And completely laughable.

I mean, it sucks that girls all over campus were set to discover which "skank" he was with during the weekend, but I was honestly entertained by the idea that the person who did it was the last person they would ever even guess.

_Yeah, that's me all over his neck. _

That was Monday; by Wednesday a lot of the gossip had died down. Today everyone has given up on the hunt. I guess they just assume Edward Cullen is a slut, and now his conquests have surpassed Forks High School.

I snorted when I heard Bree Tanner say, _"I heard it was some model from Seattle." _

Yeah, right. The only thing I'm modeling these days are stupid hoodies.

And I can't even wear my favorite one.

"It was my mom's fault. She invited them." I lean against the lockers and sink to my butt on the floor.

I made a deal with my parents last weekend: if they let me spend my actual birth date, last Friday, with Alice at her house, we'd re-celebrate this weekend. I agreed easily then, but now, I'm regretting my words. Mom suggested a slumber party, and I said, "Really, Mom?" She said, "Really, Bliss."

It wasn't such a horrible idea … until this morning.

I originally invited Alice, Lauren, Rosalie and Leah. They're my closest friends, so I didn't feel the need to extend the invitation to anyone else. Rosalie's going out of town, so I knew she couldn't come, and Leah got an F in Spanish, so she can't come because she's grounded. So it was just going to be me and Alice. And that was the plan, until my dad informed my mother and I that he couldn't take me to school today because he had to go straight to the station. So Mom had to drive me. Which would have been fine if she didn't get out of the car and walk me into school. She said she had to turn in some paperwork, but I saw right through her.

The only thing missing was the banana popsicle. She even tried to hold my hand.

I almost made it without being seen. I was at the entrance gate, ready to turn around and push my mom away when the Sluts showed up. They were all, "Hey, little sister!" and my mom was all, "How cute!"

Mom knows Victoria, Mixie, Kim, and Charlotte through me. I've introduced them a few times over the years, but Mom should have known I don't really consider them my friends. My jaw almost hit the ground when Mom said, "Did you invite them to your slumber party, Isabella Bliss?"

And I almost passed out when Victoria said, "No, she didn't! We wanna come, little sister. We like to get our slumber on, too."

To make matters worse, Mom gave the the Disappointed Mom Look when I didn't give Victoria an reply right away. I was forced to say, "Victoria, will you please come to my slumber party?"

It's kind of, sort of weird, but I think Vic genuinely wants to come.

"Well, this is going to be pretty fucking epic, don't you think … little sister?" Alice laughs, slamming her locker shut.

"Don't call me that!"

Alice sits next to me. She leans her head on my shoulder as we watch as people walk by. "Maybe it'll be fun?"

"Yeah, right," I groan.

.

.

.

"I heard."

"Then save me."

"I'll be there as soon as everyone's asleep." Edward wraps his arms around my back and holds me tight.

What happened between me and Edward last weekend once again changed the dynamic of our relationship. We're always a work in progress, we constantly evolve, and I don't assume we'll ever be standard, but this week has been really good—super intense and completely consuming. He's been so present and attentive … and sober. I mean, to a degree. I think Dusty will always smoke pot. I love it when he does, and I'm not sure I'd really care if he ever stopped, but his eyes have been crystal-blue and clear, he's attended every class and hasn't missed one baseball practice.

"I gotta make grades, B," he said when I mentioned it over the phone the other night. "I mean, we have to go to college, right?"

_College. _That was the first time I ever heard him mention anything about going to school after all of this is over. I tried not to let the small statement get my hopes up, but it's hard not to. Edward and I talk about leaving Forks all of the time, but never once have I assumed he wanted to go to college. It was nice to hear.

Between that and his considerate behavior this week, my hopes are up.

"You're not going out tonight?" I ask, rubbing my nose along his jawline.

"Nah." Edward pushes me away by my hips and turns me around. He sits back on the hood of his Continental and places me between his knees before lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke over my shoulder. "I'll be waiting, strawberry blonde."

I lean against his chest and drop my head on his shoulder and watch him take a few drags. He kisses my temple and asks, "What?"

"Nothing." I smile. "You're being different."

Edward flicks his half-burnt cigarette away from us and crosses his arms over my chest, keeping us together. "I just get tired, you know?"

I hold onto his wrists while we stand against his car until the bell rings, signaling the beginning of the last class of the day. This is usually when Edward and I take off if we decide to leave, but we're staying. He wants to, and I need to. Alice is coming home with me today, but the rest of the girls will be over sometime during the evening. I need to be all-together and ready, and an afternoon spent with Edward on the beach, under the sun … it would make tonight that much worse. I don't need something reminding me of how much I love our time together. It's bad enough I might not see him until tomorrow.

He says he's staying in, but with him you never know.

"I gotta go," I say quickly, kissing the top of his hand. I move out of his hold and pick my backpack up from the ground. "Be there when I need you. Tonight. Please?" I'm desperate and pleading with my eyes and stance.

Edward pushes himself away from the car and straightens out his black and gray flannel before tightening the straps on my backpack and pulling my hair out for me. "Be my girlfriend, Bliss."

I roll my eyes and say, "No."

He laughs. "How long are you going to make me wait, party girl?"

I think about it for a second, then a little more … and a little more.

Edward kisses my forehead and pushes me away. "Get to class before I make you change your mind." I wave goodbye and step away. He steps forward and catches my wrist. "I love you," he says.

"Don't forget about me tonight," I whisper against his lips.

"I won't, baby. It's a rule."

.

.

.

Alice and I are standing five feet in front of the front door. I'm biting on my thumb nail, and she's shooting knives through wood with her eyes.

_We can't do this. _

_We can't. _

"Bliss, answer the door." I look behind myself where Mom is in the kitchen holding a bag of chocolate chips in her hands. She looks good tonight. She straightened her hair and put on some makeup. Mom's worked up. She must have been in dire need of some girl time, because she's excited enough for the three of us.

"Tell them to go away, Bella," Alice mumbles, reaching over to pull my thumb out of my mouth. "I can't believe you invited them!" she hisses.

"It wasn't—" I can't finish correcting her for the millionth time because my mom is pushing herself between me and Ally, opening the door.

"Looking good, Mrs. Swan," Victoria says as she walks in. "It smells so delicious in here!" She playfully elbows my mom as she drops her overnight bag on the floor. "Oh, hey little sisters."

Kim walks in behind Vic, and Mixie behind her. Charlotte couldn't make it, so it's just the three of them and me and Al. They're still in the clothes they wore to school, only they look different, not so fresh. Mixie has a blemish on her chin and Kim has smeared mascara under her eyes. She's typing away on her phone, but she smiles when she's supposed to and nods whenever my mom says something partway interesting. Victoria looks like she might be the only one who actually wants to be here, but here we all are … the six of us.

The attention the Sluts show my mom is kind of funny. I'm not used to them being so polite and proper. I'm don't think I've ever even heard Victoria speak an entire sentence without using"fuck," "fucking," or "fucked." It seems she's exchanged those words for "yes," "please," and "thank you."

At least temporarily.

"The fuc—" Alice whispers, just as shocked as I am. I cover her mouth and smile for the both of us when Mom turns around with wide open eyes.

"They still smell like skank," Alice mouths. We fake giggle when Kim complements Mom's Birkenstocks. Mom laughs like it's the best thing ever.

"I've always wanted a pair, but they don't really go with my cheer skirt," Kim continues, beaming her near perfect smile, paying more attention to her phone than my mom's shoes.

Then Mom says, "Oh, I've always wanted Isabella to be a cheerleader." She turns and looks at me. "Right, Bliss?"

I roll my eyes and say, " Right, Mom."

"Right, Mom," Alice mimics me in a sarcastic tone.

I stomp on her foot.

"You should try out next year, Bella," Kim says with a satisfied smirk.

Alice laughs out loud, and with her hands tangled in her long hair, she pulls and says, "Why are you even here?"

"Alice!" Mom turns around, taken back by Alice's brashness.

Ally is quick to correct herself, though. "What I meant, Mrs. Swan, is why is she _here_, standing in front of the door? Here, let me help." She picks up Victoria's backpack and throws. It glides in the air and lands halfway up the stairs, only to tumble, tumble, roll all the way back down.

Alice picks it up again, but I grab it from her hands and hold it tight.

"I was just trying to help," Alice mumbles.

"Shut up!" I hiss.

"You're probably right, Alice. Come on in, girls. Are any of your mothers here?" Mom looks out onto the porch. I think she's a little stunned when she discovers it's empty.

"Our Moms?" Mixie asks, looking confused as usual.

Mom smiles, closing the front door. "Your parents allowed you to stay the night even though they've never met me or my husband?"

I'm beet red. My cheeks are so pink they hurt.

Mixie kind of laughs, Kim sort of waits for Victoria to answer, but Victoria looks … sad. And I hate it when she looks sad, because she looks vulnerable and small. I hate her. I hate everything she represents. But then she kind of, sort of loses herself, and this part of her shows—her susceptibility. Victoria's hard exterior melts away, leaving this solemn seventeen year old girl behind.

"My mom didn't drive me," she says. "I drove." Victoria looks around, twisting the ends of her hair between her fingers. "I mean, I can call her, but—"

It's so pitiful, not even Alice says anything.

"Can we eat?" I jump in and say. "I'm the birthday girl and I'm starving." Victoria looks at me, and she appears appreciative, and I hate her even more for it. I hate this ambivalence.

Mom takes a deep breath and nods, but her eyes still hold an unhappiness for Victoria. Vic may as well have "Neglected Child" written across her forehead, because that's exactly what my mom sees. For my parents, there's nothing worse than an unguided kid. It's why they're so strict with me. One day Mom and Dad will take credit for molding the person I become, because they truly believe their parenting style is how every home should be run. "The world would be a better place if all children had a bedtime," they used to say.

Who knows, maybe they're right. I mean, how would Victoria have turned out if she had parents like mine? How would I have turned out if I had parents like hers? I'd like to think I'd be the same Bliss because I'm my own person, but that's probably not true. I was disgustingly sheltered and amazingly naïve up until I met Alice and Edward, and I don't think Victoria ever had that curse. Her parents are polar opposites of mine, and because of that, she's learned how to use her body to fill what she's missing emotionally.

What's the stupid saying my mom is always telling me? Troubled kids think bad attention is better than no attention at all.

I don't know much about Mixie's household, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's worse than Victoria's. Then there's Kim, and she might be the saddest one of all, because she has an amazing home life. Her parents are well-off, she's an only child, she drives a new car, has nice clothes, and she has love and support from her Mom and Dad, who never deny her any wish. She lives a teenage dream.

Edward told me she's bored, though. He said she's a follower because she hates the simplicity of her life. She's thirsty for adventure and will do anything for a thrill. I guess having Petey as a boyfriend and Victoria as a friend is the biggest _fuck you_ she could give to simpleness.

My parents care too much, Victoria's don't care enough, Kim's are afraid to displease her, and Alice and Edward's lead with guilty consciences. We're all completely different and screwed up in our own little ways.

"Who wants hummus?" Mom calls out as she walks ahead of us toward the kitchen.

Kim snorts. "Hummus. Yummy."

"Is it good?" Victoria asks. She follows Mom right away.

Alice, Mixie, and I stand in a triangle shape, staring at each other, and when it becomes apparent that we don't have a single thing to say, Mixie shrugs and follows her friend into the kitchen. Kim goes after her.

"Maybe they have weed. It's the least they could have done." Alice rolls her eyes and kicks Victoria's bag.

I grab her hand and pull her with me to the kitchen. "Will you stop? You're not making this any easier."

"Fine, but I don't have to like it." She pulls my hair and laughs.

I turn and say, "Fine!" with big eyes.

"Fine." She always has to have the last word.

I'm about to say _fine_ again, but I'm cut off and shut silent when I hear Victoria say, "This is the best hummus ever, Mrs. S!"

.

.

.

They've been here for two hours and all we've done is eat hummus and hang out with Renee. Kim's still face deep in her phone, only now her hair is french braided and Mixie is painting her toenails neon-green. Victoria is sitting Indian style on the floor in front of my mom while she braids her hair, and I'm next to them, waiting for my turn.

Alice is on the couch pouting. "Can we go upstairs?" she asks for the tenth time in the last half-hour.

"Alice," Mom sing-songs, "I know you don't like doing this kind of thing, but Bliss does."

I look at Alice and wink. "Yeah, Alice, I do."

Mean Girls is playing on the TV, but none of us are really watching it. We're listening to Victoria tell stories about when she lived in California. It's all sunshine and surfer boys, and no downtime ever. It's unbelievable, and she's lying, but my mom is engrossed in every word.

I watch Vic speak while my mom brushes her hair. I notice the way she sort of falls into my mother's touch, like she hasn't been affectionately touched in so long. She's talking up her past, but Victoria's smile is genuine. She likes making my mom laugh, and she reacts honestly whenever Mom says something.

Even when my mom asks, "So your dad stayed in California, Victoria?"

I know this story; it's one Victoria told me the first time I met her in La Push. Her parents split up because they were heavy into drugs and alcohol. Vic and her mom came to Forks when her dad went to prison again. He's a career criminal. They're trying to get away.

She's quiet at first, and her eyes darken, like she wants to yell and scream … or cry, but instead she lies. "Yeah, he did. I'll probably go back to California to live with him after high school. My mom thought the school systems were shady, so we moved here, but Dad couldn't leave his job or he would have come, too. They're divorced, but it's not really like that, you know?"

Mom isn't so easily convinced, but she nods anyway.

Kim and Mixie shift uncomfortably, as if they know this is an awkward topic for Vic. I wonder if they've heard her lie about it before. Or maybe this is the same story Victoria told Kimberly's parents.

"Have you ever been to California, Mrs. Swan?" Victoria asks, never skipping a beat.

.

.

.

Once we're all painted and braided we head up to my bedroom. Mom was yawning, and she said she wanted to stay up with us, but I could tell she was ready to call it a night.

"But I thought we would veg out and watch Beaches!" she said as the five of us were climbing the stairs.

"Next time, Mrs. Swan," Victoria assured her.

_Next time. Yeah, right. _

Now Alice and I are in bed, ready to end this nightmare, but the Sluts have other plans. Kim has finally put the phone away, and Mixie is practically drooling over the half-empty bottle of Popov vodka Victoria is pulling from her backpack.

"You are so lucky this didn't break when you tossed my backpack, Alice," Victoria says, throwing the bottle on the bed between me and Al. "We're not going to bed yet, little sisters. This party is just getting started."

One shot, two shots, three shots … four.

These girls can drink. Like, I'm already seeing double but the Sluts keep pounding. We're drinking it straight out of the bottle, taking baby sips out of a warm can of Coke as a chaser. It's all I had in my room, because there was no way I was going back downstairs.

"I can't believe we're drinking in the Chief of Police's house," Mixie says between swigs. "It's so risky!"

I can't believe we are either, but something had to happen, and if they're not ready for bed, I'm not staying sober. Besides, it's loosened Alice up. She's actually talking to Kim. She's not being nice, but she's talking.

"Pete talks so much shit about you. Why do you stay with him?" Alice is laughing at Kim, but I think Kim genuinely thinks Alice cares.

She shrugs, reaching for the bottle of clear liquid. "I don't know. I love him, and it's not that bad when it's just the two of us."

Vic scoffs. I laugh, because … I don't know. I'm really drunk.

"Kimberly, Petey is always a dick to you." Vic plays with the ends of her braids, but her eyes are on Kim, daring her to disagree.

She doesn't, but Kim says, "Like you have any room to talk, look at you and Edward."

My heartbeat accelerates at the sound of his name. I was afraid of this. I was afraid he was going to come up. I try to act normal, unaffected. I take the Coke and vodka from Kim and swallow a small drink of both before passing it to Alice. My head is spinning, my hands are trembling, and my chest is heavy. I'm getting mad, because this is my place … I'm supposed to be safe from this gossip here. She isn't supposed to be in my home.

"Can we not talk about this?" Alice says. "He's my brother. I don't want to hear any stories about his dick or where he sticks it."

"Well, he hasn't been sticking it in me." Victoria laughs.

"No, that would be Ben," Mixie adds.

"And Mike Newton!" Kim yells, pointing a finger. Victoria smiles a guilty smile. "I knew it, you slut!"

Victoria lies back on the carpet, extending her arms above her head. We're in a loose circle around her on my bedroom floor, on the furthest side of my bed just in case my mom walks in. The lamp light is low and the room feels really warm thanks to the vodka. Thanks to this conversation, I feel like I'm being suffocated. I want to stand up and run outside where the air is sure to be cool and free. But I stay.

"I slept with Mike _once_," Victoria says, lifting her head to wink.

Mike Newton is a senior this year, and another boy who sleeps with anything that walks. I don't know him personally, and he's never tried to talk to me, especially after what happened to Brady Fuller last year, but his reputation is well known through out the entire school. It doesn't really shock me that one of these girls has slept with him.

"Why did you do that? I heard he had the clap." Alice snorts because she just said clap.

Victoria shrugs her shoulders, extending her legs out. Her right foot is right beside my knee. I think about grabbing her big toe and bending it back, but I don't.

"I don't know. We just did it. He wasn't even that great." She stops, thinking. "Your brother is better," she says, "But he's being all weird lately."

"Yeah, because you dropped the L bomb," Mixie says.

Victoria covers her face with her hands before lifting herself onto her elbows. I know this story, too. She told me all about it, but he told me before she did. Although, I'm sure his side is a hell of a lot more censored than what hers is about to be.

"I don't love Edward," Victoria says.

"Sure," Kim mumbles, taking another drink from the bottle. She winces before tipping the bottle back again.

"I don't. We fuck around, that's it." She's talking and my heart is beating so fast. I can feel my pulse in my eyes and in my teeth. "But that night, the night I told him I loved him, I was spun. It didn't mean shit." She hesitates, messing with the ends of her hair. "I mean, we don't even kiss … not really. It's not like that for him. It's like … he's afraid to be touched or something."

"Yeah, right. I've seen you guys kiss, Vic," Mixie says with a lifted eyebrow.

"We have. Of course we have. But it's wrong, like ... empty. And it's been a while, like a long while." Victoria shakes her head and smiles, changing her expression from sad to nonchalant. "Which is whatever, because, who cares about Edward Cullen?"

I can tell by her posture and tone of voice that she doesn't mean a word she's saying. She's too defensive. And I want to tell her that she has no idea what it's like to love Edward. It's hard. It's this. Sitting in a room with two girls, who I know for a fact he's been with. Loving Edward is knowing that and caring anyways. Loving Edward is being always high-risk and misinformed. It's returning love despite knowing better, because I cannot love without him.

Love is skewed and canted.

Love is obsessive and abusive and not any good, but it's mine. It's mine, and I don't have to justify it to anyone. Not only because we are an unknown, but because I know deep inside that he's it for me.

Maybe that makes me weak, but doesn't that make me so strong, too?

Because I don't give up on love even if he's given up on himself.

I want to tell Victoria _that_ is what loving Edward is, not drug filled sex and empty moments.

Even though I hate she has those to talk about at all.

I have to cover my mouth to keep from screaming. I close my eyes and will the pain in my chest away. I ask my hands to stop shaking. I beg for my arms to stop aching. _Please, stop turning, _I plead to my stomach.

"I don't love him," Victoria says more seriously now. "Edward can't be loved. He won't let anyone near him."

"I guess he's kind of like you in that way, right, Vic?" Kim says, moving to lay beside her friend.

Alice stretches out and places her head in my lap. I move Alice's hair away from her neck and rub her earlobes because I know she loves it when I do. While I'm making Alice feel good, I watch Kim and Vic look at each other. I always considered their friendship to be one made out of convenience and superficiality. But looking at them right now, it seems that they may care about one another after all.

"I heard you kissed Garrett last weekend, Bella," Mixie says, leaning back against the wall right under my bedroom window. "He's cute. Kind of quiet."

Alice turns in my lap and stares up at me, waiting for my answer along with the other girls. She's been begging for me to talk about Garrett all week, but I haven't given her much to question me about. Neither has Garrett, from what I take. Things with him have been kind of off. Our friendship is usually so easy, but when I ran into him in the library before school Monday morning it was unordinarily tense. I didn't know what to say, and he didn't know how to act.

"Hi," I finally mumbled.

"Hey," he said, and that was it.

I don't know if he was expecting more from me. I didn't call him Sunday, even though Garrett and I don't really ever talk on the phone. But did he expect to hear from me because we kissed? Probably. It was a game, though, and the bottle just happened to land on him. I probably took it further than it needed to go, but it felt nice having that type of power over someone. When I was kissing Garrett, he felt good. But I don't know if it felt good because I was kissing him or because I was finally getting back at Edward.

Everything I do leads back to my boy. No matter how destructive that may be. Being with Garrett would be so simple, but unfair. Unfair because I would be cheating myself out of what I really want, and unfair to Garrett because I could never, not ever give myself to him completely. I could only ever half-love Garrett, if I could even love him at all. And it's so unfair.

"We were playing spin the bottle," I say meekly. "It wasn't a big deal."

"Oh, except you almost sucked his face off," Alice says, laughing. "I swear, B, I didn't know you had that in you."

"Really?" Vic laughs. She sits up and crosses her legs in front of her. "Was it your first kiss?"

I smile and look at Alice. "Kinda."

After a few moments of silence, Kim stands up and stretches. She's wearing a pink cami and Hello Kitty pajama pants. Her hair is braided and her face is clear of any makeup. I feel like I like having them here. Like, it's comfortable, and right now, drunk in the dim light, it isn't so bad. But I know tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow they'll go back to being the Sluts, and me and Alice will go back to hating them so much. Tomorrow Victoria will go back to being the girl who has a part of my love I don't have, and I'll go back to despising her for it.

But that's tomorrow.

So when Kim says, "I'm bored, let's prank call Petey," I say, "Okay!"

Turns out Petey and Ben are with Edward, and they've been talked into spending the night watching foreign films with Carlisle and Esme. So far they've watched Cinema Paradiso, and now they're starting Pan's Labyrinth.

I wish I was with them.

Pete hung up on us the first time we called him pretending to be sales women selling male birth control pills.

"What the fuck, male birth control?" he said before hanging up.

When we called back, he knew it was us. "Are you guys drunk?" he asked, laughing. I heard Edward laughing in the background. "Stop calling, we're having movie night."

So we called Jasper, but his mom answered his cell phone. Then we called Mike Newton, and he was actually interested in male birth control, so we hung up on him. Then we called Garrett, but Victoria forgot to block the number, and since we were using my cell phone, Garrett said, "Bella, I know it's you."

I said, "No it's not!" right before Victoria hung up the phone and called Carlisle.

Carlisle was full of, "How did you get this number? I'm on the no call list!" and, "Male birth control, can I get some for my son?" and, "Alice, I know it's you."

After we called everyone we could think of, and Petey five more times after that, we got into a pillow fight. It was violent.

Actually, Alice got in a pillow fight. We all kind of cowered in the corner, hoping she wouldn't be so rough.

She hit Victoria in the face so hard Vic flew off of the bed and hit the ground back first. Ally didn't let up after that; she beat Victoria with the pillow until the girl was screaming for mercy. Then she hit Mixie, and it kind of just went from there.

Mom walked in the room as Alice was standing on the bed, swinging the pillow above her head like a helicopter, winding up to hit Kim.

Mom walked right back out, but I think the Sluts were hoping she was going to rescue them.

As soon as Mom was gone, she hit Kim in the back of the head and claimed victory.

We all gave up after that.

Now we're lying in the dark. Mixie passed out, Kim isn't too far behind her, Alice is snoring, and Victoria's still trying to talk to me about braids and hummus. It's two in the morning, and I want to see my boy, so I pretend to be asleep just to get her to be quiet.

An hour later, the room is completely silent with the exception of sleep sounds and crickets from outside.

As quietly as I can, I slip out of bed and tiptoe around tired bodies. I'm still a little light headed from the vodka, but I'm not so drunk. I feel good, and I'm ready for Edward to be here already. Unhooking my cell phone from its charger, I sneak out of my room and go into the bathroom. I leave the light off and lock the door. Sitting on the toilet, I find his number and press send.

He answers after the first ring.

"Hey, baby." He sounds tired, likes he's in bed. And I can see him so perfectly, as if I were there, because it's where I frequently am this time of night.

"Hi," I whisper-smile.

"Do you still want me to come?" he asks, stretching.

"Yes."

"I'm on my way."

"Bring me a sweater," I add before hanging up.

Sneaking out of my house isn't as hard as I thought it would be. The stairs don't creak as I take them two at a time, and the door doesn't squeak when I open it and slip out. Outside looks different when you're not supposed to see it. The air feels colder, but fresher … like it's never been so clean when it's stolen this way. After I make sure I didn't lock the back door, I stand on the porch and listen, making sure no one has woken up.

I feel so vulnerable walking on the side of the house. I have no idea how I'd explain myself if my dad were to come out here and find me, but this adrenaline, this rush I feel as I slip past our gate and onto the driveway is thrilling. The neighborhood is dead to the world. The dog next door barks as I pass, but stops as soon as she sees it's only me. When I make it to the end of the driveway, I look down the street and see Edward's car. His lights flip on and the Continental's engine roars to life. He slowly rolls down the street, flipping the light back off when he parks in front of my house.

I get in and hold my hands in front of the heater vents before reaching over to kiss Edward on the lips.

The hoodie he brought me is folded between us on the seat. I take it and slip it over my head, hugging the soft cotton to my chest once it's on.

He's dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a gray hoodie. He's wearing a black beanie, and his feet are bare, slipped into a pair of flip flops. He looks like he literally rolled out of bed to come here.

"You're not wearing any shoes, sunny side," Edward says, pulling away from my house.

I look down at my feet. Once I left the bathroom at home, I didn't want to chance going back into my room. I left as I was: barefoot in cotton shorts and a too-big sleep shirt.

I shrug and sink into my seat. There's no question as to where we're headed.

.

.

.

After I told him how my mom served hummus and vegetables at my party, he felt bad. So, before we made it to the beach, Edward stopped by a gas station and bought me everything I wanted. Now we're sitting in the back of his car, side by side. Our feet are up on his front seat, the heater is up on high, and the radio is playing on low. Edward doesn't particularly care for junk food like I do, but he humors me and eats a Twinkie. I drink chocolate milk and he takes sips from a bottle of water.

We talk about nothing. We talk about everything. Edward lights up, taking a few hits, filling the car with smoke. He asks if I want a hit, but I say no and eat another skittle. When he's good and high, and I'm nice and full, we lean into each other and cuddle under the blanket he brought for us.

"I've liked you a lot this week, Edward," I say, picking at a string on the blanket. It's the one off his bed. I love that he chose this one to bring since we can't actually be in his room.

"I always like you, Bliss." He chuckles, leaning his head on my shoulder.

"Victoria says you don't let anyone love you. She said you're hard to be close to." I find his hand under the blanket and intertwine our fingers.

"Do you think she's right?" he asks.

"Sometimes. Sometimes it's hard to love you, but I can never imagine not being close." My voice sounds different in the quiet night. The honesty sounds harsh.

Edward sits up and straightens his back before sinking back. I turn myself in the seat and lay my head in his lap, looking up at my boy. He touches my face, taps my nose, and moves strawberry hair away from my forehead. "You know that shit you found on my nightstand?"

"The cocaine?"

"Yeah. That."

I nod. I know a little about it. He shouldn't be doing it, but I continue to chose my battles with Edward. I don't know … his drug use isn't something he and I usually discuss.

"It scares me." His voice is so low and so stripped, I don't say a word in return. I don't move, or breathe. I just listen. "When I'm on it, I feel like I can do anything. Like, I'm unbreakable. And it was cool at first, but … shit changed. It's a rush I can't even explain, Bliss."

"So you stopped?"

He shrugs. "I guess. I thought it was something I could do on the weekends, but I started wanting it all of the time. I needed to kick back. Shit was beginning to get out of control." He laughs, but it's not a funny laugh, it's malicious. "Last weekend when I walked in, I knew you kissed him. The second I looked at you I knew, but it was when I looked at him that I could really tell, and I wanted to kill that motherfucker. I felt like I could. I felt like I could fucking kill him for touching you and it would have been fine." Edward smiles spitefully. "I wanted to erase the fucking look off his face. It was like, he had finally been with you … and you could tell."

I'm motionless, afraid to move. Afraid that if I do, he'll stop talking.

"But that isn't the part that scared me. It was the shit afterward. Being with you. I was so fucking afraid you were going to leave me. And I don't know, the coke intensified all of that shit. I thought my fucking heart was going to come out of my chest. I felt … like I lost control. But at the same time, it makes you feel nothing at all if you don't want to."

We're quiet again, until he says, "But with you, I have no choice but to feel." I sit up and look at him. Edward looks at me, but looks away and smirks. "I just want shit with us to be good."

"Me too," I whisper.

We make eye contact, and I love that I can see the blue in his eyes. They're high-low, but they're blue, and that's all that matters to me.

"But you won't be my girlfriend? You don't want anyone to know?" Edward moves some of my hair behind my ear and brushes his thumb along my bottom lip.

"I want to, but—"

"Why does there have to be a but at the end of that, B? I'm trying, and I know..."

"You don't know anything," I whisper weakly. "You have no idea." And he doesn't. He has no idea how it feels to be me, on this end of our relationship. What I've been though. I kissed one boy and he's ready to let go of our secret. He's so fucking selfish.

"It's not because of him?" He scoots up and reaches for his cigarettes in the front seat. He's getting mad. I can see it in his posture and hear it in his tone of voice.

"It doesn't have anything to do with Garrett, Edward. I just … I just want shit with us to be good." I use his same words, and he seems to get it.

He lights his cigarette and opens the car door to let the smoke out. He's thinking, and he doesn't talk to me while he smokes, but I can tell by his expression he's upset. But as his cigarette burns, so does the tension in his shoulders. And by the time the cigarette is done, he's smiling.

"Lets go in the sand," I say, climbing over him.

Edward catches my hips, keeping me in the car, straddling his legs. His right palm is flat against my neck and his other hand is twisted into my hair at the base of my head. "You'll never leave me," he says. "Promise it."

"Edward," I sigh.

"I know we don't do that, but just once, promise me this, Bliss."

I look into his eyes and wrap my hands around the strings on his hoodie, pulling his face closer to mine. I kiss his mouth and place my forehead against his. _Doesn't he already know?_

"I could never leave you. It's a rule."


	19. Charlie Brown

**We do not own Twilight. We do love Edward's black eyes.**

**All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer, Taking Back Sunday, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Sleigh Bells, Coldplay, GroupLove, The Postal Service, Cyndi Lauper, Fun, Soft Cell, Nicki Minaj, and Pat Benatar.**

**TeamBella, this is what happens when a poet and a realist meet. _This is what living like this does._**

**LovelyBrutal is our prereader, betababy and my beloved tresor. **

**Thank you guys for reading and for all the support.**

**Coldplay – Charlie Brown: **_Light a fire. Light a spark. Light a fire, a flame in my heart. We'll run wild. We'll be glowing in the dark._

_All the boys. All the girls. All that matters in the world. All the highs. All the lows, as the room a-spinning goes. We'll run riot. We'll be glowing in the dark…_

**Chapter Eighteen – Bliss**

We don't get a lot of these lately, weeknights together. I close my eyes, trying to remember the last one.

_January? Before school started again?_

It's been so long. And even though I'm here three out of four weekends a month, weekends aren't the same at all. Sometimes he stays in. _Sometimes_...

I open my eyes and look down as best as I can in my position. I'm on my back and Edward's wrapped around me. His hips are against his bed, next to mine. His chest is on my stomach and his head is on my chest, ear over my heart.

Sometimes I'll stay in his bed even when he's gone and a couple hours before dawn, he'll come home. He doesn't smell like girls or a shower, just smoke and night games and double mint. He'll push my white pajamas and his gray sheets away, and cover my skin with nothing but his touch. His kisses. His breath.

I smile just to myself, from all the way inside. I look down at my boy, wrapped around me. I can tell by his breathing and by the feel of his pulse against my belly that he's not asleep. I'm tired and I know he is too. It's almost one in the morning, but it's nice sometimes like this, to just be so quiet and so still.

We see each other in the halls and stuff. He leaves longer notes that are more like letters now in my locker. We're in close proximity all week long, but it's nothing compared.

I close my eyes once more and relax in the moment, trying to remember our last weeknight in. January feels like forever ago. It's the end of March already. Alice is going to be sixteen tomorrow.

_Sixteen._

_I wonder what kind of car they'll get her._

This year has been so much different, and in a lot of ways, so much better than the last. Edward and I still keep to different crowds and he still goes out all the time, but his knuckles remain uncut for months now. He still parties, but his blue is clear. He goes to school and plays ball, and is just himself.

Which is all good, these are all really good things; I just wish we could have this more often. I wish we could just be, but I know better. But there's so much holding us back. His friends, my parents, not to mention my heart...

I slide my fingers through his hat-messy hair, just feeling him breathe.

There are things I want to say. I want to ask him where he was all day while I was at school. I want to tell him I missed him all week long, since last time we were this close, last Saturday morning. I want to ask if he's okay, if everything's okay, if he can feel his heart calming down and my own picking up so that they can beat the same sound together somewhere in between.

I want to tell him I love him so, so, so much.

But I don't say anything.

Knowing where he's been or trying to tell him how much I missed him wouldn't improve upon this perfect silent stillness one bit. One way or another, it would only hurt. And I know he can feel both of our hearts. It's why he's got his cheek pressed to mine, and I know he knows I love him. How could he ever doubt it? How could anyone doubt something so clear, so strong, so for certain that you feel it all the way in your bones when you touch?

Love tangles tightly like roots through both of us and all of this. We were made to love.

It's having to live in the meantime that messes everything up.

Edward breathes against me, warm through my sleep tank.

I love so deeply. I feel like I can't even contain how much I love him.

He shifts a little and his sideburns tickle the top of my bare chest. I sort of giggle, but it's more just like a whispered smile. He loosens his arms from around my middle to hold my sides in his hands and nestles his nose and chin over my skin, tickling me purposefully now.

My laugh is hushed, but strong. It takes intentional effort from both of us to keep quiet. Neither of us speak, but I hear him. My heart hears him, shush-laughing too. It's exactly what the best smile in the whole world sounds like: whisper-wrapped, breath-filled laughter, more air than sound.

We're silently twisting and push-pulling, and I'm grinning so high my cheeks hurt. I feel my smile behind my shut-tight from giggling eyes. I feel it deep in the bottom of my chest, the top of my belly. I feel everything I have that makes me, me, fluttering. Tingling. Pulling.

Toward him.

For him.

_It's times like these when silence means everything._

We tangle and turn on top of his blankets and swear love between sheet-slide sounds without speaking a word. Edward pins me on my side. He curves his fingers and tickles my stomach under my shirt, and covers my neck with too-soft little nip-kisses that drive my pulse insane. I push somewhat free and gasp in a fresh breath. On his knees, sort of behind and kind of around me, Edward surrounds every corner of my consciousness, warm and solid and all-encompassing.

He's sunkissed and smirking.

I turn onto my back in the fractional leeway he's granted and I take both his hands in mine, holding us still. His eyelids are low-dark, but his blue is night-bright. Their light burns right through me, all the way. Straight to the center of my soul.

He blinks slowly and smiles, but there's something in his burning blues. The truth, our love, is prodigious there, abundant and staggering and almost too formidable. Our love is toilsome. It's more than challenging. It's an uphill battle and its strength is intimidating. I feel bare when he looks at me here and now, and I know he's feeling it too. I feel small compared to the force of our love, like it could swallow me whole.

Edward just licks his lips. He looks adoring and hungry as he watches me watching him. I feel like if he wanted to, he could eat me alive. He's every bit as strong as our love.

We're both still just breathing, but he looks like he's finally about to speak. I blink and swallow, and brace my bravery against my backbone. I wait for him to say something that will turn me on and leave me twisted, or worse, just twisted. But when his smile parts, it's neither of these things that come out. Holding my eyes to his, Edward brushes his thumb along the bottom of my neck, over the dip between my collarbones. It makes my pulse skip.

"Your heart makes my favorite sound," he tells me so quietly, "in the whole world. Your heartbeat calms me."

My cheeks glow hot pink and I feel my dimples pierce them. "Edward," I whisper, blinking my own lashes lower, shy at how incredibly special I feel.

I know, I want to tell him. I know, because I know, but I can't speak. And it's okay. Because I don't even need to.

Edward leans close, so close our noses and foreheads brush-touch, and he kisses me softly. So soft, I can feel him radiating reverence and illuminating love right into me. I can feel him breathing, beating, bearing and bestowing pure adoration.

I blush hotter. I smile higher. I bliss-out like the miracle he makes me know I am.

Edward kisses from my lips to my cheek, still smiling too. When he speaks again, he whispers so low. "Tell me a secret, baby?"

I teem tingles and pulse paradise. I cup his face and bring him close once more. I whisper before I kiss him again.

"I love you."

.

.

.

It's late in the afternoon and Alice is next to me on her parents' sofa, eating a bowl of Trix and Kix cereal mixed together. Her milk looks pink-purple. She smells like sweetness and sleeping in.

I dunk one of my mini cinnamon rolls into my mug of white milk and savor the decadence on my tongue for a second before I chew and swallow. Alice flips channels with the remote. She's in cut off grey corduroys and a black and white raglan. I'm in shorts I can't wear at home and have one of her Taking Back Sunday teeshirts knotted low on my right side. Both of us have our hair parted in the middle and hanging down, and my flip flops are on the floor in front of us, next to her slip on Vans.

It's Saturday, May third and we are taking it extremely easy. We were both up till almost sunrise last night. She snuck out to see Jasper. I was on the roof with Edward, taking shotguns and kisses, watching him blow smoke rings at the moon. We touched and felt and loved until my phone vibrated in his back pocket, and he slipped his hands out from under my pajamas so I could return to where I was supposed to be.

Ally and I slept until after noon and didn't get up out of bed until almost two, but that's okay. This is exactly what Saturdays are for. Carlisle's working, Esme just got back from the store and is in the kitchen putting groceries away. Edward's playing ball and Alice and I are the quintessence of hanging loose.

She stops on Tosh.O and trades the remote for her spoon. I grab another little cinnamon roll and recross my legs underneath myself. We have plans to go out with the boys later, but that's still plenty of hours away. There's a skating rink in Port Angeles we've been going to for a few weeks now and while I've been okay renting roller-skates, Alice bought me a pair of my own yesterday. They're white with pink wheels and pastel rainbow laces and I kind of can't wait to wear them tonight.

I hold my mug close and start to dip another bite when the sound of _Under the Bridge_ and car doors closing outside makes my heart skip two beats. I almost drop my mini-cinni into my milk. I want to smile to myself, but I keep my expression casual.

_My boy is home._

I can hear Petey too and then a key in the door, and the door opening, and I want so much to turn around and beam love, but I follow Ally's body language. She doesn't turn, so neither do I. She holds her bowl in her right hand and lifts her left up and behind her head, like she's waiting for a prize.

Pete drops her a low five and I raise my hand for one, too. His palm and fingers are rough on mine as they walk by and Edward messes his sister's hair up. He gives my ends a little tug. My heart doesn't skip this time. It leaps. It jumps for his contact.

Behind us, they smell exactly like teenage boys, like sunlight and sweat and clay-dirt. They smell like cut grass and leafy green, like the perfect summertime breeze. They don't say a word to either of us, nor us to them. Their conversation from outside continues as they pass the sofa on the way to the kitchen, something about Kim's mom getting a call yesterday and how she isn't allowed to cheer for the next two weeks. I resist the urge to turn around and look. Just knowing Edward's in his uniform makes my lazy butterflies perk right up.

His hands are probably dirty. His cheeks are probably a little sunburned and he's probably got his hat on backwards.

I have to push the image from my mind to keep my flutters in check.

"Hey, how'd you guys do?" Esme asks. It's hard to hear their conversation a room away, especially with Alice flipping channels again. It's mostly laughs and bottles of water being opened and downed in a few drinks, and crushed in boy fists. It's a Petey biting into an apple and Esme asking if he wants peanut butter. It's the sound of a trash bag being pulled up and turn-twist-tied, and Edward carrying it out.

I dunk another cinnamon bite as he comes back in and closes the front door behind himself. In my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of clay-dusty white and the corner of a smile that sends my butterflies loopy. This time when Esme speaks, I hear her loud and clear.

"So now neither one of you are going to prom? How is this fair to your poor mother?" Her tone is teasing and a little playful. I can hear her smiling, but there's the slightest hint of guilt there too.

Edward sort of chuckles as he heads back into the kitchen. I hear him turn the water on and wash his hands. I hear the three of them talking, but the bits I catch don't make a lot of sense, even though my heart is on full alert at the mention of prom.

Alice slurps the last of her milk and my hope at hearing anything else is swallowed too. Thankfully, she gets up to take her dish in. I follow behind her, holding my mug in both hands. When we turn the corner into the kitchen, I can't even believe the words that come out of her mother's mouth.

Esme looks right at us both and lifts her right hand, palm up, like the answer to whatever they're discussing is completely obvious and we're it. "Take the girls," she says, smiling, looking from us, to Edward and Petey.

Alice's jaw drops and her blues bug out wide. My own eyes open further too as I glance from her mother, to her son, to his friend, and back to her son again. His cap is on backwards and his cheeks are sun-heated. I'm so consumed with wanting to tackle-attack him that I've only half-processed what Esme just said.

Petey laughs, like he sort of cracks up. Edward laughs too, the breathless kind that goes right through his careless, too-cool smile. Esme holds both her hands up now, innocently, like her suggestion makes perfect sense.

"Are you fucking crazy?" Alice asks, laughing just as incredulously as Pete. "Seriously, have you lost your mind?"

Their disbelieving laughter is contagious. I kind of laugh and set my milk on the counter next to me so I can push my fingers through my hair. I play along on the outside, but inside, my heart's beating hope I've kept from it for months. Never in my dreams had I even imagined Edward going to prom, and I certainly hadn't allowed myself the fantasy that if he did, he'd take me. That's not us. I know better. If I don't allow myself unrealistic aspirations, they can't be crushed.

"What?" Esme continues, blinking like we're all the delirious ones. She looks at Edward and speaks wholeheartedly. "Prom is important and I want my boys to go, and what could be more perfect?"

Edward continues chuckling and wipes his hand down his summer-lit face. He lifts his hat and messes his hair up before pulling it back down. He's smiling, but is shaking his head just the same as Alice is.

Next to me, Ally puts her hands on her hips and Esme starts talking about dresses and pictures, corsages and renting limos, and everything feels like it's happening fast and disorderly. I smile because I can't help it and I try to follow the three different conversations Alice is having with Pete, Edward, and her mother, and I try to get a grip inside, and it's all fairly dizzying, and that's when I notice it. I glance across the kitchen at Edward and he meets my eyes for a couple seconds in the confusion. He's playing his part too, but underneath it, his smirk is lurking.

It's buried, but it shines like victory. No one else notices, because no one else is meant to, but I see it brimming in his dark blue.

"It's not up for discussion." Esme laughs, triumphantly. "You have to do it because I'm your mother and it will make me happy." She picks up an apple from the center of the table and takes an exultant bite, visibly pleased with herself.

"You're demented." Alice laughs, still shaking her head, reaching her hand out for a bite of the same red apple. "I'm not even kidding. I think you need serious professional help," she says with her mouth full.

Petey tosses his apple core at Alice as he stands. She catches it in her free hand and tosses it back. Edward moves away from where he's leaning against the counter and steps toward me, toward the doorway out of the kitchen. I'm still putting the pieces together in my mind, wondering how he did it, how it all worked out so perfectly that this could maybe really, truly, actually happen, when he gets close enough to reach.

He doesn't touch me and I don't touch him. We don't speak, but I go from wondering to knowing this was somehow all his doing when he drops his dirty hat onto my head and reaches behind me to steal my milk. He downs it in one gulp and smiles before he and his friend leave. Kim may have gotten herself into trouble on her own, but the rest of this was all my boy.

My heart beats his name. I try not to smile too big.

.

.

.

I say it for the third time: "It's not a date, Mom."

I don't raise my voice, but I want to. I want to shout at her to let me go, but I've got this. My heart rate is steady. My mood is laid back and my tone is optimistic-easy.

She's washing cherry tomatoes we just came in from picking and I'm leaning against the counter next to the sink. I hear Dad's keys and our front doors open and close. I'm supposed to be cutting cucumbers, but for now I'm just talking and taking in her reactions. It's a very sensitive and intricate sort of process - knowing what to say and how, and exactly when. I grab one of the little red fruits from her colander and pop it between my back teeth. "We're all just going as friends," I tell her nonchalantly. "If I had a date, it would be Ally."

Mom flips her blonde hair back and gives me the side-eyed-look while she shakes the water off the tomatoes. Her cheeks and nose are sun-freckled, just like mine. Her green-blue eyes look not quite believing and slightly pleading, like she'd really rather we not talk about this kind of stuff. Ever.

I know she loves me. I see it. Love is full in her eyes and I feel it just in her presence. Her love is absolutely unconditional, but I need her to let me breathe.

Before I can continue with my carefully prepared list of reasons why everything is okay, Dad comes in and kisses the top of her head first, then mine. Mom turns around and feeds him a little tomato-cherry. "Let me talk to your father about it," she says, walking over to the table.

I fight the urge just to press my lips together. I keep every twitching-to-rebel nerve ending under control. If they talk about it alone together, they'll never let me go. I know it. It has to be here.

"Why not now?" I ask casually, shrugging my shoulders.

"Bella -" Mom starts to say, but stops, visibly reconsidering.

I seize the opportunity carefully. "Dad," I stand up straight and look right at him, "I want to go to this dance with my friends."

We're positioned in a sort of triangle shape. Dad's leaning against the counter across from me. Mom is across from both of us, sitting at the table, chopping cilantro. He looks from me to her and back to me. I brace myself and hope hard.

"Sounds harmless enough," he says. "Who are your friends?"

"We're going as a group." My voice is totally steady. "Me and Ally, with Edward and Pete."

This time when he looks from me to Mom, it's for longer. For a few seconds, they have an entire silent conversation that I understand every word of. My heart notices and I have to buckle down stronger inside. I can do this.

Dad's tone is equally steady as mine as he turns his focus back to me. I wonder in the instant before he speaks if he suspects, if he can see right through my plan.

"So, when you say dance, you mean prom." He talks with his hands, holding his palm up like in example. "And when you say friends, you mean -"

"Dad-" I quietly stop him and close my eyes. _Don't call my friends hoodlums,_ I want to demand. _They're good. We're good, we're just young. Let me be young._

"You're a sophomore, Bliss. Prom is for juniors and seniors." He's not mad. There's no upset in his tone. He speaks like it's just obvious, like these are simple facts.

I swallow and open my eyes up, holding tightly to the fact that neither of them has actually said no yet. I'd planned on pointing out my positives, on all these reasons why I deserve a little freedom, but things don't always go like you rehearse. Sometimes your plan needs a back-up. Sometimes, you have to be a little bit stronger.

"Is it actually because I'm a sophomore? Or because we're going with Edward and Pete?"_Because there's zero doubt in my mind you'd let Garrett take me. If it was anyone else, you'd probably let me go._

Both of my parents look hesitant to answer. Mom speaks first, but picks her words with slow caution. "They're not exactly models of trustworthy behavior, baby. And Edward…" She pauses.

My defenses prickle.

"They're just boys, Mom." I know all the things Edward is and I don't want to hear her say any of them. "They're like family." My pulse picks up. I speak firmly, matter-of-so-fucking-factly. "And Edward's never given you a reason not to trust him."

But then, they don't answer.

And then, the seconds of quiet that follow grow so heavy.

And I can't even -

The possibility that my dad could know things I might not, hits me hard. Edward does break the law on a fairly consistent basis, not violently, but with pot, and I know he drives when he shouldn't... But he'd tell me something like that. I know he would.

_He would._

I keep my voice declarative, like I know the answer, but in truth that makes my skin feel cold, I'm really asking. "Has he?"

My heart beats weigh so much they hurt. The moment they take to answer takes entirely too long. I want to scream.

Dad looks to Mom and then finally, he shakes his head.

_I knew it. I knew he hadn't. He'd tell me._

The truth restarts my heart with confidence.

"We just want to keep you safe," Mom says. Her voice sounds weak, like she knows she can't do that forever and like that truth breaks her.

Guilt pulls at me, but it doesn't out-twist my determination or my hunger, or my love. "I know," I admit, allowing the smallest creak of honesty into my tone.

Dad leans away from the counter and goes to the table to grab another tomato. He stands a little behind, a little right next to mom. We're not a triangle shape anymore. They're on one side of the kitchen and I'm on the other. It's inevitable, what's happening here. They have to know this can't go on forever. They have to let me go.

Mom knows. It's in her tear-glassy eyes. She smiles and holds her hands up innocently, the exact same way Esme did yesterday morning. "Well, can I sign up to chaperone or something?"

"Mom!"

I roll my eyes, but I hold my Doc-stomp in check. I've so got this. I can work with this.

.

.

.

Alice and I are in the middle of my room. I'm sitting on my dressing table bench and she's standing behind me. She has my hair high up on my crown, brushing it all out smooth. When she loud-pops a bubble, I laugh.

"I hope you know if you drop your gum in my hair and I have to chop it all off, you're chopping yours off too."

"Oh shit, Bliss." Ally play freezes, teasing in her voice.

"I'm serious." I laugh.

"So am I," she says, tugging my hair a little higher, right where she wants it to go. "There's gum in your hair. Guess we're shaving our heads."

I roll my eyes and smile high while she does some more tugging.

Today has been so good. All of May has been so good, really, ever since that Saturday morning when all of this started. I didn't get to see Edward later because I had to come back home, but when I texted him from my bed and asked if he was serious, if this was actually happening, his two word reply pushed me over the moon.

_Say yes._

I know it's not like a real date, like if we were going together for real. We can't be our whole selves, but it's something. It's something I never expected and he certainly didn't have to do, but he did. For me.

Ever so secretly, I swoon a little at the thought and blink my eyes, looking across my room and into my mirror. Ally's twisting a braid around the bun on my crown and I'm tapping my feet on the carpet in rhythm with some infinity guitars. We're both barefoot in our dresses. They're more formal than the ones we've worn to other dances, but we're both so casual about the whole idea of tonight. It's not even awkward for Alice and Jasper because he trusts her implicitly. It's a complete non-issue. We're dress-dressed up, but the vibe is so laid-back.

At least, that's how it looks. And I am pretty relaxed, but inside I'm carrying almost a month's worth of eagerness and excitement.

Alice secures the braid around my light strawberry bun and claps proudly. We unroll her (now cool) hot rollers from her hair and I pin most of it up on the back of her head. Her little black cocktail dress is completely backless. Her hair needs to be up.

We look in my dressing table mirror together. She has her naked back turned and winks over her shoulder. She looks gorgeous-sexy. Ally is a fucking stunner.

We scoot the bench closer to do our make-up and I pinkie touch some pink blush to my eyelids, and brush just a small bit of shimmer over my cheeks. I roll on natural-pink lip gloss and lean back. I bat my lashes and watch my best friend smokey-black her lids out. I smile, content with just a little hint of colour. My complexion is sun-loved pretty and I don't want to push getting told to wash anything off.

I glance at my desk clock while Alice brushes glitter over her charcoal gray shadow. It's just after eight, which means it's about that time. The boys should be here any minute. I bite my lip a little to contain my smile. He's so good to me lately. Everything's so good. My stomach turns and flips, and the butterflies in it flutter madly. Grabbing my half-shrug from my bed, I pull it on and keep the long, so pale pink sleeves down around my wrists. I don't intend on wearing it very long at all, but my dress is strapless and sweethearted low on my chest, and there's just a lot of skin that parents don't need to see.

I do love my dress, though.

Turning and twirling a little, I watch the short layers spin out above my kneecaps. It's layers of wrapped snug chiffon that are closer to French vanilla than white. I walk back to the mirror and bump Ally's butt with my hip. Her make-up is finished and she has her almost platinum blonde hair pinned into as poofy an up-do as she can get it. She steps away and into the neon green pumps that are waiting by my bed. They're awesome and I love them, and they're so her, but I laugh as she gains four inches of height. "You're going to be taller than the boys," I tease, stepping into my left heel sandal and lifting my foot behind me to buckle it.

"No, I won't," she says with a smile and a bubble-pop. "Well, maybe I won't." She shrugs.

I'm buckling my other sandal when I hear car doors close outside. I swallow the impulse to squeak and feel my heart beat in my stomach. Alice plays with her hair some more. She runs her pinkies under her bottom lids while I fasten tiny diamonds to my ears. She meets my eyes in the mirror and smiles something sneaky.

"I wanna get stoned," she whisper-grins.

I giggle, about to ask if she's serious, but a knock on my door and my dad saying "knock, knock," on the other side of it stop me. I turn the music down and say come in.

He opens the door about halfway and keeps his hand on the handle. "Your friends are downstairs," he informs us sort of flatly. He looks obviously out of his element and in truth, none too happy.

I press my lips together and nod, refusing to feel guilty. "Thanks, Dad." I grab my clutch from my bed and walk to my desk to turn my computer off. Ally taps her hands on the fronts of her legs quietly, watching me and kind of waiting. I look over and see Charlie still standing in my doorway. I raise a brow. I don't want him to say a thing, but it looks unavoidable.

"What?" I ask, keeping the grudge from my voice. I just want to spray my perfume and be silly with my friend. _Why are you still standing there?_

"Are you sure you don't want a sweater?" He asks finally, insinuation unhidden.

I laugh even though I try not to. It's not at him, but really?_ Really?_ I give up on getting to spray perfume and have a last little secret moment with my friend before we're with the boys. I shake my head a little as I move toward my door. With my purse in my left hand as we pass by him, I pat Dad's arm with my right hand and speak with harmless assurance. "This _is_ a sweater, Dad."

I take the stairs next to my friend and when we get to the bottom, she runs ahead as best as she can in her pumps and pulls the front door all the way open. When I step behind her and follow her out, what I see makes it so hard to breathe.

In the very best way.

The half-set sun lights everything in warm hues from the left and Edward's leaning against a white-painted porch post holding a long stemmed peachy-pink tulip I recognize from Esme's garden. He's in a black on black suit, skinny tie just right and looks so tall in straight fitting slacks. His shades and shoes are glossy-shiny brand new black and his skin glows summer warm, and he looks good. He looks so, so good and then he smiles, _and how could he possibly look better?_ His smile is like light that's so bright it hurts to look at, like trying to focus on a sparkler while it's burning.

That's what his sharp white grin makes me think of, my first Fourth of July here. It's the spark to my magenta-paper heart and burns blinding hot.

Next to him, Pete's in black on white and leaning against the wooden porch railing, holding a jet-black tulip from the same garden. Edward's focus returns to his mom and what she's saying about being careful and when to be home. Alice chimes in and Pete is just kind of laughing. I'm trying not to stare, but all I can think is _that flower is for me._

Glowing gold bursts into flames in my chest. _That tall, dark and handsome boy, he's for me. He's doing all of this, for me._

My sparkler-heart melts like a banana popsicle, but before it can drip sugar down to my stomach, Dad clears his throat behind me.

I link my arm through Ally's and we step aside together. Everyone looks and nothing is said, but Edward doesn't miss a beat. He takes his sunglasses off and holds them in his left hand with the flower stem as he steps forward. Beautifully clear-eyed, my boy stands exactly eye-level with my dad.

It's a strange sight. The whole thing is _really_ strange for a second, but Edward's relaxed posture is a comfort. He's peacefully forthcoming as he lifts his right hand.

Charlie doesn't hesitate to give it a firm shake and I can see Edward playing his part, but he doesn't balk. Pete copies him almost exactly and Dad shakes his hand too. I watch with Alice and our moms, and it looks like Edward is about to say something. I feel like he's going to, but before he does, Ally pats my dad's arm, just like I did upstairs. "Don't worry, Chief," she says, smiling with her eyes and all through her words. "I've got this situation totally under control."

I watch Dad look from her to Edward. "Alice is in charge," he says, nothing like a question.

I want to roll my eyes.

I want to laugh.

I want to get out of here already.

Edward smiles and glances at his sister. "Alice is in charge," he agrees.

"Yessssssss!" Ally hisses happily and fist pumps both hands once into the air.

The strangeness of my two worlds edging too closely together is gone then, and our moms are nudging us together for pictures. Alice and I hold our flowers and we stand with each other and with the boys, and I keep it just as nonchalant as the three of them do, but inside, my heart's burning a sapphire fire. I'm so happy and having to keep crazy-insane joy hidden is so difficult. The natural urge to grin from ear to ear, and jump up and down, and cheer a little bit like a psycho teenage princess girl is almost overwhelmingly strong. And it just grows with each second we spend under the willow tree, smiling for pictures, arms linked so platonically.

My joy approaches uncontainable as I look around.

It's not just me, but so many people that Edward loves are happy right now, because of this. Alice is pumped beyond belief for the two person party we're going to throw on the dance floor and Esme is doing the happy mom cry. Pete's cool, but he's grinning wide and even my mom, hesitant as she looks if you really look at her, even her eyes are glinting pride and good humor. Everyone is light on their feet and easy in their stance.

Edward brushes his thumb over my tailbone when no one can see. I smile, just like everyone.

Everyone, except Dad. He hangs back quietly while Mom and Esme capture everything, but he still doesn't look convinced that this is in any way a good idea, _but what can I do? They said yes. They gave me this. _So I hug him and tell him thank you, and I mean it one hundred percent.

Edward gives Mom a hug and kisses the top of his mother's head. Pete hugs Esme and gives my mom this silly, like, half salute, half nod gesture that I'm pretty sure is meant to convey respect, but still be some kind of casual or cool or something. Whatever it is, she just laughs at it and pulls him into a hug anyway. Our moms kiss mine and Alice's cheeks. Mine whisper-tells me that I'm so beautiful and that she loves me, and please, please be safe, baby, while Ally's mom is whispering something of her own and poofing Alice's hair even bigger. By the time she and I head to the car, I'm holding in so much pure emotion I think I might pop.

Ally and I wave from the back seat and at long last, we're finally, finally, finally moving.

The second we turn off my street, Edward puts his sunglasses back on and loosens his tie. Alice passes me my aviators from her purse and drums happily on the back of Petey's seat as he sets fire to the end of a blunt. "Turn the music on!" She insists, loose strands of blonde blowing around her face. "You heard the chief, I'm in charge. Turn it on and turn it up!"

I laugh and lean back comfortably as Edward makes another turn. The setting sun hits his profile from a new angle and when he reaches his arm out to turn the stereo on, I notice in the different light that his suit isn't black. It's nighttime-dark gray.

I don't know why it's like noticing a secret, but it is and I smile so high, all the way wide like I wanted to so much in the front yard but couldn't. I can't keep it all down anymore and I laugh louder and drum my hands on the front seat too, and tell the boys to turn the music up even more.

Pete does as he passes the cigar to Edward as we turn onto a back road. Windows down, deep beats up so loud I feel each one in my belly, we head right out of town.

Alice hits the blunt.

I don't, but I don't even need to. I'm so high on natural euphoria that the easy rush of wind coming in feels exactly like freedom.

.

.

.

Alice and I are next in line in a long corridor of single door bathrooms. Music and laughter filter through the wall and down the hall, but we're both smiling-silent. She's more than a little high. We cruised the back roads around Forks for the better half of an hour before we got here. Edward only let his sister take a few hits, but she blew every one of them in my direction. I'm maybe a little contact-buzzed. Maybe.

Alice crosses her legs, straining to hold it and I blink. And giggle. And okay, I _am_ a tiny bit contact high.

I smile to myself while we wait for a bathroom to free up. When I breathe in, I can faintly smell the gardenia and pear blossoms decorating the ballroom around the corner. I smell tropical hairspray and expensive perfume, dank-grape-smoke and the mid-May breeze.

Still silently giggling, I inhale a deep whiff of Alice-deliciousness from her crown. She smells good enough to gobble up.

A few doors down from where we're standing, a door opens and we head into the single together. While she goes, I adjust my dress in the mirror and re-tuck our tulips into the side of my bun. I'd wanted to keep my flower when Edward first handed it to me, but the longer I held onto it, I realized it couldn't really last. Even if I kept careful track of it all evening, in just a few days it will wilt and then get all brittle on my dresser or somewhere sentimentally special, and eventually just crumble apart. But tonight, it's perfect.

So, when I broke the blossom from the stem and stuck it into the braided part of my hair, Ally broke hers too and tucked it in next to mine. We left the stems in the back seat with our sweaters.

My bare arms and shoulders and chest feel so warm-wind kissed. Cruising with all the windows down was so good. I feel perfect, like the weight of the different versions of myself that I have to be so much of the time has lifted and I'm free to just be me. I'm not at all sure what's supposed to happen at a prom - I know from just glimpsing the huge shining-dark room on our way in that there are plenty of girls in floor length, super formal dresses that look like they know what they're doing - but in truth, I have no idea what's expected.

I'm just energy.

I'm just bubbling, brimming over.

I just want to dance.

Alice tugs my attention while we're washing our hands. "I know it's still really early to even probably be thinking about this," she starts, pinkie-smoothing out her eye shadow.

I stand next to her in the mirror and roll on fresh lip gloss, waiting to hear whatever grand post-prom idea she's come up with. She stops and turns to face me, and smiles a smile suddenly so big, it looks like she's been keeping it buttoned down for some time.

What comes out of her mouth is definitely post-prom, but is nothing like what I even close to thought.

"I think we should go to California together," she says. "For college."

My eyes open wider and so does my smile, because where did that come from? "Alice?" I'm laughing, not at her, but, "What?"

"I know, I know it's really random, but I had to tell you because I really think we should do it. And I know it's still like, forever away, and I know your parents will take some convincing or whatever, but just..." She closes her eyes, like she's talking about the best dream ever. She shakes her hands, like she means to erase everything she just said and start over.

"Sunshine every day," she nearly whispers, like if she speaks too loudly, something somewhere might snatch the dream I didn't know she had, away. "And the Pacific, and surfer boys, and skater boys and don't you just..." She opens her eyes and we're holding hands. She's holding mine in hers and she looks so hopeful. Like, I've maybe never seen her eyes look so deeply hopeful. "Just think about it."

I squeeze her hands and nod my head. "Okay," I tell her. "Okay, I will. I promise," because of course I'm going to think about it. How could I not? I've always taken the idea of college as granted, with Edward I guess, but this - considering things that far ahead, how far I could go, and Edward - It's too much right now. I'm not ready for that.

Thankfully, Alice giggles. And kind of flails. And sort of screams. Not loudly, but it's definitely a coming-up and letting-go of an extremely joyful noise.

"But not tonight! Not tonight!" She's insistent and insane, and I love her so freaking much. She step, step, silly-steps in place, her heels tapping the tiles and echoing off the walls. She motions toward the door. "These boots were made for dancing!"

Back in the ballroom, everything is silhouette golden-lit by countless little white votives on every table. The four of us were a little more than casually late and people are already up and dancing. The wide open room is a pulsing kaleidoscope of chiffon swirling between black suits, in-between black tables and along black walls. Everything and everyone sort of shimmers and glitters and glows in the dark.

Ally spots the boys after a few seconds of standing and looking, but I've already found mine. If he's nearby, my heart knows just where to look. My heart just knows.

Edward shoots me a smile from across the room and my Fourth of July heart sparkles hot in my chest. I raise my hand in a small wave and Alice throws up a peace sign. Hand in hand, we pass them on the way to the dance floor and before I know it, we're in the middle of the crowd, shaking it out. A few of the senior girls dance with us, but most of the juniors keep their distance with their boys.

I'm beyond thankful that not a single face I see strikes hurt or worry into my vibe. It's perfect, tonight. Things are exactly how they should be.

Between the end of _Tongue Tied_ and the beginning of _Such Great Heights_, we stop to stand still for a second and Ally fans her face. I touch the back of my head gently to make sure my flowers are still in place and follow her hand when she lifts it to point.

The boys are leaned back in their chairs and Ben has joined them. There's no date by his side, but it could easily be any one of the girls in this room.

Heated warm and hearts beating fast, we make our way to the table. There are two cups of punch waiting for us. Alice downs hers in three quick chugs and blows out like it burns. She makes a stuck-stung face. It makes me giggle and proceed with caution. As she sits down next to Pete, I sit in the empty chair between her and her brother, and slowly sip my some-kind-of-spiked fruit punch. I wouldn't take it from anyone else, having no idea what's in it, but it's not from anyone else. It's from my heart's beat.

"Who are you here with?" Alice asks over the music, looking over at Ben. He smiles, almost sort of sheepishly.

Edward and Petey both laugh. Ally and I both raise our eyebrows and she holds her empty punch cup under the table. Pete pours something in it and Edward nods toward a blonde a little ways away. Her back is turned. She's in a knee-length floral print dress and sheer-light-lavender tights. I can't see her face, but I know who she is right away, and I can't even believe it.

"No way!" Now I'm laughing, too. I take another small sip of my drink. "This is perfect!" I lean behind Edward's seat and hold onto the back of it with one hand. I cup the other around the side of my mouth. "Rosalie!"

The blonde in the tights and sparkling pink ballet flats turns around and she's so adorable beautiful. She has contacts in and looks so different without her glasses. She smiles so happily and waves, and points toward the bathroom line, signaling she'll be right back.

"Benny wants to see what's going on under those tights," Pete snickers.

"What? For real?" Alice is giggling like she can't believe it either. She lifts her cup, but doesn't chug it this time. "I mean, I love her." She's looking at Ben, shaking her head teasingly. "But you're a fucking freak."

Benjamin smiles wide and cocky, showing all his perfect teeth and shrugs like _who even cares?_

I give him a look that says_ if you hurt my friend, I'll seriously fucking injure you. Alice will help. Don't do it._

He shrugs his wide, black-suited shoulders even higher, somewhere between totally sincere and like he already knows something I don't. He takes a drink. "Nerdy girls like to get it on too," he says simply.

When Rose returns, she hugs me before she sits down on the other side of Edward, next to Ben. "I didn't know you were going to be here," I start, taking another sip of my drink. Prom and dating in general isn't something we really talk about between verb conjugation and politics, and new ways to call a slut a slut.

Rose shrugs and smiles high. "Me neither," she agrees, looking over at Tweedle-Dum. He passes her a drink from Pete and you can look at them and just tell:

They've already kissed. They made out in his car before they came in. I know it.

She sips her punch slowly like me, her pinkie just a little bit up. "Folie," she says in French, smiling shy and genuine.

_Craziness._

"Folie," I agree. Edward shifts next to me and leans back a little further in his seat. Under the table, I feel the side of his knee bump the outside of my bare thigh. He presses to keep the contact and I press back for more. Everyone's kind of stopped talking and looks sort of curious, like they're waiting for more of an explanation. And I am too. I'm still trying to imagine how she came to be here, with Ben of all people. It's not a bad thing at all. It's just so far out of left field.

Keeping my eyes on Rose's, I motion toward her date. All I can come up with is "Vous êtes sûr de ce garçon ? "

_You sure about this guy?_

Rosalie smiles. It's fairly dark around us save for the candlelight, but I'm pretty sure she blushes a little. "Parfois," she starts, _sometimes_, as she looks at Ben. He's got his left hand on the back of his head, messing with his dark curls, so laid back. She smiles a little shyer, a little more honestly. "Parfois, les filles veulent juste s'amuser aussi."

_Sometimes, girls just wanna have fun too._

I laugh through my smile and raise my cup then because _exactly_. Because everything is exactly perfect.

Alice lifts her cup too. "I have no idea what that means," she says, "but, if B is toasting to it, then yes!" She taps her cup to mine, then to Rose's. "Yes!" Then to Pete's, and Ben's and Edward's. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Edward laughs and the sound is like a swallow of pure gladness all through me. We all raise our cups together and drink up, and Alice and I are back on the dance floor in no time.

Only this time it's a little different because we bring Rose.

And this time it's a little better because the boys come with us too.

The three of them hang back at first, but move closer between _We are Young_ and _Tainted Love_. Petey spins Al 'round and 'round. Ben and Rosalie dance forehead to forehead with their butts sticking out like funniest jitterbugs I've ever seen in my life, and I'm laughing so hard my sides hurt. I have my hands over my too super-high smile when I barely catch Edward in the corner of my vision. He's been so nearby for a while, but we're close together in the blink of a clear blue sky and he takes both my hands in his.

The simple contact thrills me. I'm so happy I could squeal and I maybe kind of do when he presses his left hand into the middle of my back, and turns me in a quick circle. I'm still giddy giggling when he brings me back to him.

"Hi," he whispers under the music when we're facing one another. My eyes are level with his lips. I look up.

"Hi," I whisper back, caught up, spinning inside even as he holds me steady. A slow song starts and I don't recognize it, but Edward must because he brings me even closer. He glances around us. Pete and Ally are back at the table refilling their cups and Ben has his fingers laced between Rose's, not paying a bit of attention to anyone else.

Satisfied with what he sees, Edward blends us more into the very center of the crowd. He brings me closer still, so that we're pressed completely together, my soft off-white to his almost-black. I bring my left arm up, my hand around the back of his neck and he presses his right into the small of my back. His left hand holds my right, over the lapel of his jacket, right over his heart.

I look up and see him, looking at me with all the love in the universe. I see his own utter joyfulness, every bit as intense and incandescent as mine feels, and he smiles higher and I know that tonight isn't just for me. This is for both of us. He's equally elated and just as secretly grateful as I am for this rare and perfect moment, for being able to hold me like this in public. Maybe even more thankful than I am.

I think of my first night at his house, how between nail polish stealing and chasing him till I was out of breath, I wanted it to last forever. I want this moment just like I wanted that one. I want this for life, for my whole life.

Edward smiles and studies me. His eyes glint candlelight. I grin like a girl in first love, silly love, true love. He licks his lips. "Do you have any idea how hard it is not to kiss you when you smile like that?"

It only makes me smile higher, so outrageously high that my mouth opens and I duck my eyes while my cheeks go wild cherry pink.

He's so close in the next second, the warmest, most welcome rush of vanilla and double mint. He brushes his nose along my blush and presses his palm into my back. He curves his fingers more firmly between mine over his heart. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, B? How perfect in every way?" He whispers, touching his lips to my cheek.

My knees go weak. I try to press my lips together to keep from smiling out loud, but I can't. I can't stop smiling.

"Kiss me," I whisper, turning my face toward his just a little.

"I _am_ kissing you," he says, smiling too, brushing his parted lips toward my ear, kissing just underneath it.

I hold his neck slightly tighter. My heart beats irrational, undeniable love. I want more. "Edward..." I plead, still moonstruck smiling.

He brushes his thumb back and forth over my tailbone through my dress. Even through the layers of fabric, his touch gives me goose bumps. His touch comforts and thrills. "Soon, baby," he whispers under my ear. He tickles me with little nips of teeth and lips. "I want to take you to the beach and kiss you all night. I want to kiss you forever, Bliss."

And he starts to. He touches countless kisses under and behind my ear until I'm giggling out loud because his breath makes me crazy, and we're standing up straight again and I'm looking up and knowing this is real. I'm really here, slow dancing with Edward to a song about how if this world were mine, I'd give you each day so sunny and blue, and if you wanted the moonlight, I'd give you that too, and I'm knowing this is how it's supposed to be.

When that song ends, the DJ picks the pace back up and I put my hands in the air and laugh because I love it. I turn around and look for Alice and she's heading right for me, curling her fingers for me to come closer.

"We are young," she sings. "Heartache to heartache, we stand."

I grin crazy and shake my head, meeting her halfway. "No promises," I reply as I take her hands. "No demands."

Pete's following her and I feel Edward, keeping a little distance between us, but he stays behind me as I move. Rose and Ben are to my left and right here, right now, surrounded by flickering candles and filled with quick-synth heartbeats, it feels like we're all the same. Me and Petey. Edward and Rose. Alice and Ben. All of us. We're all the same and we're all okay.

Love may be a battlefield, but here, under the silver disco ball, in the middle of the crowd and on top of the world, we're all just kids.

Innocent.

Wild.

Free.

.

.

.

A little less than two hours later, Edward and I are on the dock at La Push. The full moon is high and I'm sitting in his lap with my legs over his left. A night full of touching but not really being able to touch has caught up with us and he's making good on his whisper about kissing me all night.

I haven't stopped smiling. I can't.

Along with our shoes, we left Alice and Petey asleep on a blanket near the bonfire maybe twenty minutes ago. Starting with my temple, Edward has worked his way down my nose and across my shoulders, and is now on the bend of my left elbow. He's making me giggle on purpose. He's only kissing the bend of my arm, but he knows very well he's tickling me so much deeper. His love reaches every part of me and I know he knows it. It's in the way he hasn't stopped smiling either.

Edward kisses down my arm, telling me he loves my muscles and my bones. "I love your blood," he says. "I love your veins and the way your heart works." He kisses my wrist and my palm and the bend of my thumb.

My cheeks are going to be sore tomorrow, from smiling so hard.

He kisses the inside bottom part of my index finger. "I love the way you hold onto me so tight when you come."

"Edward!" I giggle and push his shoulder, playfully trying to pull my hand away.

'You do," he insists, kissing the very center of my palm. "You hold onto me with everything and I love it." He brings my open hand up to cup his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into my touch. "It feels right when you hold onto me like that," he says. "Like this feels right."

"It is right," I tell him in turn, nudging my forehead to his.

Edward tilts and I turn so I'm straddling his lap. I hold onto both sides of his neck and I kiss his lips. His arms are warm and strong around me, and his hands are in my hair, and he opens his mouth and kisses me deeper. We move together and he gives me his tongue, and I give in. I kiss him like I've wanted, like I've needed to kiss him all night, since the second Alice opened the door and I saw him standing there in sunset light.

I kiss him like I wanted to kiss him on the dance floor and he kisses me like he knows, because he does know. Because he was struggling to hold it in all night too.

"Don't you feel it?" He whispers, breaking our kiss to pull me closer, to secure me to himself. "How good it could be?"

I nod because I do feel it. I do want everything he could give. I do, but here, on the dock... Our best friends still in eye and ear shot back on the beach...

Not here.

"Edward," I whisper, my eyes closing and my mouth falling open as he slides his hands down my sides, taking hold of my hips and moving me in a slow, slow, slow circle.

"I'll be so good to you, Bliss," he breathes back, his promise low and hot with sincerity. "I'll take care of you. I want to see you smile like this every fucking day..."

I cross my arms around the back of his neck and rock up onto my knees so I can feel him better. They'll be bruised tomorrow from the dock, but I don't care. We remain forehead to forehead and he rolls me easily, slowly, intentionally. I feel my tingles start to twist and I hear my pulse in my ears, and I want -

"Let me show you how loved you are," Edward whispers, burning me up. "I'll love you with everything I have every single day."

It's then that I realize he's not talking about what I think he's talking about. He's moving me and I feel him, but the desperation shading his voice isn't for sex.

I close my eyes tightly and beg heaven not now. Not now. I can't think about this right now. I'm not ready, please...

"Be my girlfriend," Edward half tells, half asks, nose to my nose, stealing kisses between assurances and requests. He smiles. He holds me close and tight and strong. He wants. I can hear it. "Let me be your boyfriend."

And right there, in that moment, I open my eyes.

I focus on his clear blue and I breathe with him, and we're in some kind of interstellar harmony where I can't feel a single one of my fears or doubts or reasons, just him. Just us. Just love.

And it's perfect.

I inhale sharply and am about to nod my head, about to shape my lips to tell him _yes_ when movement on the beach catches my attention and I freeze.

Edward freezes too, but doesn't let go. He's facing the water and can't see what I see, but he knows something's not right.

"What?" He asks quietly, any and all panic pushed from his tone by sheer protectiveness.

But he has no idea and I blink, and stare, because _what?_

_What?_

I try to swallow and play it cool, and shake my head to tell Edward _no, nothing, we're fine_, but I can't swallow. I can't form a single coherent thought.

Petey and Alice are awake, but they're not paying us even a smidgen of attention. He's half on top of her, kissing her on the mouth and she's got her arms around his neck. Her leg is around his hip and her dress is pushed up, and her poof-pinned hair is coming all kinds of undone in his hands.

For a second, I can't do anything but gawk.

Love knows how to throw the most inconceivable kind of curveball.


	20. These Worries

**We do not own Twilight. **

**Special thanks to Taking back Sunday for always being lyrically spot on: **_Just ask the question, come untie the knot. Say you won't care, say you won't care. Retrace the steps as if we forgot. Say you won't care, say you won't care. Try to avoid it, but there's not a doubt, __a__nd there's one thing I can do nothing about._ **Thanks to****Jay-Z for having 99 problems, and Sam Adams for blowing up. Thanks to Pepper for their Crazy Love, and Eminem for being the definition of white trash ballin'. Oh, and Bob Dylan for existing! **

**Yellowglue, I could never make it though any of this without you. **

**Lovelybrutal is our beta. **

**Kid CuDi – These Worries: **_Okay, I been here before, alone for the umpteenth time or more. I'm tired of motherfuckers sayin' that they worry about me, when in fact they probably never gave a fuck about me. _

_Yeah, life is like that: Beat me up and I'll fight right back. Poof, poof, be gone. I see the devil linger on._

_These worries are heavy. They rest on my shoulders. My pride, it won't let me fall victim no more. _

**Chapter 19 – Dusty (our motherfucking monster) **

I want _her _so fucking badly.

I can feel it in the back of my throat.

A numbness in my gums.

A tightness in my chest.

A tingle in my finger tips.

A rush in my blood.

She fucking calls to me, this bitch.

I've been trying to stay away, but it's hard. She wants me.

I kind of want her, too.

The easiness.

The relief in nothing felt at all.

The silence.

The chaos.

The escape.

The only thing stopping me from doing it is the girl who usually sleeps next to me.

She's worth it.

She's more important.

Bliss is everything.

If I keep reminding myself of that, I can ignore cocaine's whispers.

.

.

.

"What the fuck did you expect, Alice?" I ask, leaning against the door frame with my arms crossed over my chest.

My sister's sitting Indian style on her bedroom floor in front of a mirror. She's crying; she hasn't stopped all fucking day. My girl's beside her, trying to console, trying to find the right thing to say, but nothing seems to be working. Bliss runs a flat iron through Alice's hair, while Alice wipes a few more tears from her face.

"Shut up, Dusty," she answers weakly.

"Did you think Jasper was going to be okay with you kissing another dude?" There's accusation in my tone. I want Bella to know this is for her too. "Can you explain to me why in the fuck you would even kiss Pete in the first place?"

Alice spins around causing Bliss to drop the iron. Half of her hair is clipped up and the other half hangs down straight. Her eyes are insanely red and swollen from being so upset. I feel bad, I guess. It sucks Jasper broke it off with her, and I don't like to see my little sister cry, but she should have known better. Her and Petey are close, but_ what the fuck? _

And if Bliss hadn't seen them—if I hadn't have seen them—how far would they have gone? Pete's my boy, but Alice is my baby sister … I wasn't going to let that happen. It's not going to happen.

She's crying again. Mom calls my name from downstairs, _"Edward, leave your sister the fuck alone."_ Bliss looks disappointed. Last night was near perfect before all of this shit went down, and my girl and I don't have many perfect nights. Then again, she's not my girl. She won't say yes.

"Why are you even crying? You let him kiss you!" I'm laughing, but it's not at her. It's really not. I'm laughing at this bullshit situation—at the situation I'm in with Bliss.

I work so hard not to go insane, and I think I'm doing what she wants, but she's still sitting on that fucking bedroom floor looking at me with unbelievability in her eyes. I can't get a clear reading on her anymore. She's changing, and I'm trying to get a firm grip on us and on who she's always been, vivid, sweet, and kind, but it's slowly slipping away. And who's to blame? Me? I mean, is it too fucking late to make shit better?

I'm trying so fucking hard to do right by her, but she doesn't seem to get it. And last night … maybe I lost her a little bit more. Maybe it's too late for us. Maybe she's moved on.

Not that I'd ever accept that.

If we go down, we go down together.

"Edward … kiss me. Kiss me, baby," she whispered on the beach. I was still waiting to hear if she was going to be my girlfriend or not, but her movements became rushed and heavy. I knew something was up. She was too desperate, and her mind was far away, but I kissed her anyway.

When I opened my eyes, baby was looking past me. I had her lips, but I didn't have her attention. I stiffened up and pushed her face back. "What the fuck—"

"No … no." She kept kissing me, but I wasn't into it. I held her back by her shoulders and stood up. She followed my motions. "It's probably not a big deal," she said.

At first I thought she was going to tell me something, like she was finally sick of my shit and was leaving my ass on the fucking beach. I began to panic. I almost started to fucking cry.

"What the fuck are you talking about, Bliss?" I was ready to fall on my fucking knees and swear, promise, declare, justify, and plead, but she was still looking past me. So I looked over my shoulder.

"Ed—"

I was already gone.

Alice and Petey were prom-juice-spiked drunk, and people fuck up when they're tossed, but I never expected my best friend and my sister to hook up. Never. Seeing Petey on top of Alice with his hand on her thigh and his lips on her neck—I almost killed the motherfucker. The bottom half of her dress was pushed up and her top was pulled down. It was more than a kiss. And there is no doubt in my mind that it would have gone a lot further if I hadn't interrupted.

Baby chased me up the dock, onto the beach. I grabbed Pete by the back of his shirt and pulled him off of my sister. He stumbled on his own feet, kicking sand into the air. My sister immediately covered herself up before holding both of her hands over her mouth, like she couldn't believe what she just did. She sat up and sand fell from her shoulders. Her eyeliner was smeared and her prom dress was twisted; her green heels were thrown to the side, filled with beach shore. Petey's shirt was halfway unbuttoned and his hair was flipped. His eyes were coke-black and his cheeks were embarrassed-red. It was chaos: Alice started crying, Pete started pacing, and Bella started to glare—I was pointing, cussing, and threatening.

The ride home was awkward and still. The atmosphere in the car was smothering. I drove with my heart lodged in my throat, and since there was no recovering from what happened between my sister and Pete, our night was ruined. And to make an already stupid situation more shitty, Bella didn't come to bed with me last night. Alice was up until the birdies sang, crying, and Bliss was her loyal best friend. I was left alone, without an answer, without my girl, insecure as fuck.

The whispers kept me company, of course.

Yeah, that cunt can always make shit better.

She's always there for me.

_I love you more than she does. _

"Go fuck yourself, Edward!" Alice screams; tears roll down her sad little face.

"Dusty!" Mom yells from downstairs.

I'm still laughing, but really, it's not at her.

Putting my hands up in surrender, I push away from the door jamb. "Stay away from my friends, Al."

Bella snorts, wrapping the cord around the flat iron. She tosses it on the floor and stands up. Her make up is last-night-smeared and her hair is still up in its bun, only it's unbraided and messy. She has sleep shorts on which are way too fucking short, and she's wearing a white tank top with no bra. Baby looks spent, but she looks warm. She looks comfortable. She's sexy. She's where I want to be.

"I fucking hate you," Alice mumbles, crying into her hands.

"Hate me all you want. Don't hook up with Petey again."

Bella's standing in front of me with her hand on the door; I'm on one side and she's on the other. I'm not laughing anymore. I feel guilty for laughing at all, but I can't help it. I'm losing my mind. I feel like we're far apart. Baby is right in front of me, but she's so far away. I should tell her this is all for her: my attitude, my language, my laughter, my tone of voice. _"It's yours, baby,"_ I want to say. _"Make shit better and fix this. Be here. Be mine." _

She's looking at me, and I'm looking at her.

Then she says, "You're such an asshole."

I open my mouth to reply, but she slams the door in my face.

.

.

.

"Lift up for me, baby," I whisper.

She does.

I hook my fingers into orange lace and pull it down her legs. Bella's shirt is still on, and I love her this way: half-dressed, flushed, exposed, and here. My room is dark; the TV is off and the window is closed. Baby lit a candle because she's cute that way. Dim fire-light illuminates her soft skin. I kiss inside her knee where she has a small birthmark the shape of Maine. She bites her lip and twists her hips. I sit up on my knees and take my shirt off.

"Do you love me, baby?" I ask, lifting her right leg, circling it around my waist as I fall between her. I kiss the side of her neck, pulling skin between my teeth. "Could you live without me? Would you want to?"

I reach between us and pull myself out from my basketball shorts. My dick slides between her folds, but I don't try to push in. Not yet.

Baby moans behind curved lips. Her eyes flutter and her hips circle.

I slowly move against her. She's ready for me. Her body fucking sings. My cock is soaking in her.

"Could you ever let someone else touch you like this? See you like this?" I ask, kissing the top of her shoulder. My eyes roll and close.

I can't stand not looking at her, though, so I open up and watch her cheeks redden even redder than before. I watch her nipples harden under her white sleep top. Goosebumps spread down her arms and legs, against my sides. Her mouth opens slightly; she licks her kissed-swollen bottom lip and whispers something incoherently. Baby's blonde hair is fanned around her head, over my pillow. She digs her feet into the mattress and pierces her dark purple nails into my biceps, holding onto my arms until she can't anymore. Then she grips onto the bed sheets and pulls.

"No one will ever love you like I do, Bliss. No one knows you like me." I circle, circle, circle my hips. The head of my cock grip-pulls at her opening. I stop. Bella sucks in a sharp breath. "Let me," I whisper-plead. "Let me, baby, please."

I unwrap her fingers from the bed and lace our hands together. I kiss her wrist and kiss her lips. I search for her eyes and look until she sees me, too.

"Could you?" she asks with her free palm on the side of my neck. "Could you ever let anyone touch you like this?" Baby holds my stare, daring me to answer.

I push her hand into the mattress and breathe through my nose. My entire body tenses, and my dick hardens further. So much power. I have so much power over this girl. She tries to be courageous, but she doesn't have what I have. She doesn't have nerve … she isn't slick enough to be as low as me. For so long I've determined how our relationship works. She's always just followed my lead, and maybe those times are over, but Bliss isn't gritty. She would never deny me anything … but this. This, she can.

"Answer me," she insists. "Could you? Have you? Tell me no one has ever been with you like this and you can have me."

I move my hips, giving her the head of my cock. Bella's eyelids lower, but she stays. Her look remains.

"Where are you?" I groan, using every muscle in my body to keep me from pushing right in. My arms tremble and my eyes burn. My jaw's tense and my heart's double-triple beating. I can almost feel how good she'll be from the inside, warm, binding … just to be that fucking close to her, and to have that taken away before I've even had it is unendurable.

"I'm right here. Where the fuck are you?" She doesn't sound like herself. She sounds defeated and spiteful and mean. She's not really here, but she is, crying.

I pull myself away, letting my dick hang between us. Some of the tension drains from my limbs, and I hold myself above her; our skin barely touches, but we're close. "Don't do this," I whisper, kissing her wet eyelids, licking her tears away, drinking her fucking sadness. "Don't be away from me." Over her lips I say softly, "It's a rule, remember? You'll never pull away. Remember, B?"

Bella wraps her arms around my neck, securing us absolutely. Her legs catch and tangle around mine, trapping us together. She kisses my mouth like she means it, like it's worth something. But when that isn't close enough, she uses her feet to push my shorts down to my ankles where I kick them off. We both help her out of her shirt, and when baby and I are completely naked, we are completely touching. Every inch of me is on every inch of her. And there is love here. I can feel it coming through her into me. I shake. I press her into my bed. I try to fall into her.

She bites my jaw and scratches at my back.

"Slow down, princess," I whisper into her ear before kissing her collar bone and pressing my forehead against hers. I can see her better now that my eyes have adjusted. The burning candle flickers; mostly melted wax, it threatens to give out. My room smells like vanilla spice and smoke, and the air is thick and hard to breathe.

Bliss calms, and her tears stop. She kisses my shoulder, my chest, my neck. She holds on tight, with no sign of letting go. "I just want it to be me and you," she says softly.

"It is." I take a hold of my frustration before we get out of control again. "It is, Bella. It's been months..." I stop before I say too much.

"I can't be your girlfriend, Edward."

I push up until my arms are straight. My hands are pressed into the pillow at the side of her head; some of her hair is tugged under my palm.

"And we can't have sex … we can't have sex until I'm the only one you're having sex with."

She's telling me this, but I'm not listening. The only thing I can process is that baby is saying the word sex, and it sounds so grown up on her precious pouty lips. It's like she just aged right in front of my eyes. Like, what I hoped to prevent has just happened, and I completely forced her into it. Now, there's a wall between us. She may not feel it, but I do.

She just took some of my power away from me.

"You are—" I begin, but she stops me.

"Don't lie to me anymore." She moves her bangs away from her forehead. Her eyes gloss over and she releases a huge breath, like she's been waiting so long to tell me that, and now that she has, she can breathe again.

"I haven't been with anyone," I say, sitting up on my knees. We're still naked, and she's spread open, and my dick is still hard, but none of that matters. "I've been straight. I've been—" I pull on my hair and move away from her.

Bella closes her legs, but doesn't cover herself up. She hides her face in her hands before tangling her own fingers in her hair and staring up at the ceiling. I grab my pack of smokes off of the dresser and light one up, not bothering to open the window. With a cigarette in my mouth, I look for my shorts. Bella's looking at me now. She sits up, leaning on her elbows.

"I've been trying with you, B," I say, taking a drag, picking up my basketball shorts from the carpet and put them on. "I mean, how many fucking times do I need to ask you to be my girlfriend?"

She sits up, searching the blankets for her pajamas. She finds her shirt. I reach over and take it from her, tossing it across the fucking room. "Don't do that. Don't get dressed." I blow smoke into the air.

"You're acting crazy," she mumbles, lying back down.

I laugh, finally opening up the window. "You haven't seen crazy, baby."

This cigarette isn't enough, so I reach into my top drawer and grab my bag. I roll up with a shaky hand. Bella's quiet, leaned against the head board with my dark-gray sheet covering her body. My joint is sloppy and too-quickly bound, but I feel better as soon as I light up.

_It would be so much better with her, though. _

One phone call to Dimitri is all it would take. He sells coke regularly now, always offering. I refuse because of Bella, because I don't want to be completely fucked. I lose my sense of self-control on that shit, and everything else becomes second because I feel indestructible. Coke's a consuming bitch—captivating and raw. And if I want things with Bella to be good, I need to keep my nose clean. Not only for her sanity, but for mine too.

But why? Why am I putting all of this fucking effort in if she's not returning it? If it doesn't even matter? I've fucked up. Bella knows this. She knows and has never held it against me. She's supposed to be safe from that. I'm not supposed to worry with her.

Shit hasn't been the same since she kissed the boy.

"I'm killing that motherfucker," I say with a chest full of smoke and a head full of haze.

Baby rolls her eyes. "This has nothing to do with him."

"Everything's been fucked up since then!" I yell.

"No," she says. "It's been messed up all along!" She's being too loud. Bella is yelling at me. _Me._ She never yells at me.

"Keep your fucking voice down."

Bella finds her hair tie on the night stand and pulls her hair up. I took it down when she first got here. She was soap-clean and shower-warm, but she hadn't washed her hair. She said she liked the bun even if wasn't as pretty as it was last night, but I told her I liked it better down.

Now it's up again.

Then she laughs. "You keep throwing that in my face."

"You shouldn't have done it." I lean out the window and take a deep breath. My head's changed. I feel lighter than I did a moment ago, but I know it could be better. I know I can get rid of this ache in my chest completely.

Baby laughs out loud. "I shouldn't have done it, but you've slept with the entire school behind my back."

I take one last hit from my joint before turning around and saying, "I wouldn't be fucking them if I could fuck you."

The air is sucked from the room. Anger and hurt and betrayal and shock all cross her face before it crumbles and she cries. It's a lot like how Alice was crying last night in the back seat of my Continental: loud, heart breaking and sad.

"Baby," I say. "Bliss, I'm sorry. I shouldn't—" I stop, because there is no coming back from what I just said. I knew exactly what I was doing when I said it. I've done a lot of fucking up, but Bella hasn't, and when she kissed Garrett … it was unbearable. Like how I just made her feel now.

_Love is vengeful. _

I walk over to the bed and sit next to my girl. I don't say anything while she cries. I don't even touch her. I wait. I've never heard her cry so loudly before. I need to tell her to keep it down before someone hears, but I can't bring myself to do it. Maybe I want us to be caught together. If everyone knew, there wouldn't be anything left to hide. Shit would change, and would it be that bad?

It's like we're constantly pulling a rope; we can never tug at the same time. Before she wanted me to settle, and now that I am, she doesn't want it anymore. Where do we go from here? Because things are just getting worse as time goes by. This was easier when everything was fucked up and I wasn't trying so hard. When I was going out every weekend, when I wasn't begging her to be my fucking girlfriend every time we're together … before she kissed Garrett. That's when shit was good—when it was supposed to be at its lowest.

The first thing she says to me when her tears slow down is, "You are such a hypocrite."

"I don't care," I answer honestly.

"About everything."

I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. I don't turn to look at her. I can't stand to see the face I forced on her. "I don't give a fuck, Bella."

"Not only about Garrett, but about Alice and Pete, too." Her voice is low, rough from crying so hard.

I turn around this time. "What do they have to do with anything?"

She looks at me. Her voice shakes; she's hyperventilating. Her chin quivers and a few more tears fall, but she's doing a good job of controlling herself. She's staying strong, like she always is.

She's better than me.

"You got so mad," she says.

"She's my little sister."

"And it's okay that you're with me because I'm not anyone's sister?"

I don't answer, because she's right. But it's different. It just is.

"I was going to say yes. I was. I was ready to let everything go and just say yes and be with you, but then you saw Petey and Alice, and your reaction reminded me of why I say no." Baby pulls in a few shaky breaths before continuing. "I deserve more than what you are to me. I'm good to you, but you're horrible to me. But we're stuck, and I can't be without you."

"You can't leave me," I say, turning my entire body in her direction, pulling my sheet down.

She doesn't stop me. Bella shakes her head like she could never and kicks the rest of my sheet away, grabbing onto my arms as I climb over her. "You're soaking in sympathy," she whispers, crying slowly.

I stare into her eyes until it hurts too much. Now they match because we're both crying, and we're both gripping and whispering, _I love you. _I hide my face in her neck and sink my teeth into her skin just to feel her with me. I circle-wrap my fingers in her strawberry-blonde and pull her head back until she cries out. Then I kiss under her chin and down her throat. I make my way over her chest and rub my lips over her nipple.

"Can I do something, Bella? Can I touch you?"

"Yes," she whispers softly. Her voice shivers and her eyes continue to water.

"It might hurt, but I'm not going to … I just need to touch you, princess." I lean back on my calves and open her legs at her knees.

Sometimes I can't believe she's mine. Bella's right, we're stuck.

"We're going to die like this, you know?" I say with a smirk, happy to die miserable and old as long as it's with her. And it will be. There is no future without baby.

She manages to smile and mean it, because the truth fucking kills, but there are no better times than times like these. We're alone, together, and touching. Our relationship is so twisted and fucked, but we're close, and there is no finer way to feel connected to someone than this. She needs it … I need it, just to remind ourselves, that despite everything, there is love here. It runs bone deep. Heart deep.

Already cocaine's whispers are far away from this place. Unwelcome with her like this.

I touch her center. My fingers slide between her. Bella smiles shyly, biting on her bottom lip. Her face is flushed red, a mixture of pleasure from this and pain from earlier. There isn't anything devious about us here and now. She isn't with me for bragging rights like the Sluts are. She doesn't think she's in love with me because we get high and fuck sometimes. Bliss knows I am absolutely in love with her. Our love is not perfect. Our love is fucked up and bleeding, but it's the most precious thing in my entire life. I treat it like shit, but it is what it is, and neither one of us is powerful enough to walk away from it like we should.

This, right now, like how we are … it's genuine, and it's needed.

I lean over my girl and kiss her lips. I touch her softly, pressing my thumb into her clit until she moans lightly; the most beautiful sound ever. It's low and rich and soothing, and all for me. I'm hard again, but I leave my dick in my shorts.

Bella blinks heavily, and she touches my arms gently. Her palms slide down my sides and the bottom of her feet press into the back of my calves. I circle my thumb and lick my bottom lips before reaching down and capturing her nipple between my teeth. I run my tongue over it and listen while she whimpers my name.

I kiss my way up her neck, and with my lips beside her ear and my hand still between her legs, I ask, "Are you ready, Bliss?"

She nods.

Using my knees, I spread her legs even wider than they were. I sit up and back to look at her. She takes my motherfucking breath away. And it all makes sense—why we put ourselves through this shit.

Because there is no other way.

Carefully, I draw a circle around her and slowly slide my middle fingertip inside. Bella's eyes squeeze tight and her back curves away from my bed, into my touch. I hold her hip down with my free hand and twist-turn my finger into her again and again, slow and slower.

She's virgin new and so fucking binding. Her body is warm and she smells like heaven.

My lips curve into a small smile. All of the junk food she eats does not go without consequence. Her stomach is soft and her thighs have a slight thickness. Baby has the prettiest little dimples where her bottom meets her legs. When I press my thumb back against her clit while my finger pushes in deeper, her mouth opens and I can see where she had two fillings done last summer. Her mom was concerned; she doesn't know Bliss is a junk food junkie.

"I love you so much," I whisper over her lips. She opens her eyes and smiles lazily. "You won't ever get too far from me. I'll make damn sure."

Her eyes meet mine as I start to push a second finger into her.

She grips onto my shoulders and quietly moans.

"Does it hurt, baby?" I ask, pushing in further.

She nods, then shakes her head. "No." Her head leans back exposing her neck. Her feet push far into my bed and she drops her knees wider, opening up further.

I smile crookedly, watching her reaction to me. I curve my fingers and push in harder. I push in until I can't go any more, and when she arches her back and reaches up to grab the headboard, I say, "I wish it was my dick I was fucking you with."

She lets go of the bed and circles her arms around my neck. I laugh quietly into her hair, stroking her with my hand faster and harder. Baby's tits bounce with every push. Her quiet moans and whimpers are becoming louder and louder. Bella's body changes for me; still so tight, but a better fit.

"Thank you. Thank you," I say. Her body begins to contract and her knees close in on me.

There is no better feeling than this. There is no better look than her. I love everything about it: The way her cheeks burn. The way her chest rises and falls. How I'm being gripped between her legs. How her nipples brush against my chest. The way my name falls from her lips as she comes against my hand.

And when I think it can't possibly get any better, baby reaches into my shorts and wraps her hand around my cock.

Now I'm the one burning, rising and falling, gripping and whispering.

We don't come together. She does that first, but I'm not too far behind. And when it's over … we do it again.

.

.

.

I wasn't looking for her.

But I saw her anyway.

She was at the end of the hallway; she's probably still there. With him. With Garrett.

She's wearing a dress with a red bottom and a navy-blue top tied around her neck, and her hair is up. Bella has metallic silver flip-flops on, and when she walks, they smack on the bottom of her feet. I thought about her all day. I thought about the way her dress swayed against her thighs, and how her bangs are too long so she has to push them behind her ear. I thought about how different this summer can be compared to the last. I thought maybe, in a couple of weeks, I can ask her to be my girl again. Things have been steady. They've been good. So maybe she'll say yes.

But that was until I saw her with him, and now the only thing I can think about is breaking his fucking face.

It's her smile that butchered me. I couldn't hear what either of them were saying until I moved closer, but it was all in her smile—she likes his attention.

The stupid fucking sun was shining in through the window, highlighting her face, and when she laughed, her fucking teeth twinkled. Baby leaned her head back to giggle, covering her mouth after a moment like she was embarrassed. Then he made her blush with something he said, and when her cheeks turned crimson, she reached out and touched his arm.

He touched her, too.

That motherfucker touched my girl's collar bone.

He slid his finger under the straps that tie around her neck. Bella hit his hand away, but she laughed again. Then she smiled, so I started walking.

"What?" Garrett said, sticking his hands into his pockets.

"Don't touch my dress," Bella replied, hugging her folder to her chest.

Both of them were still smiling.

I was halfway to her when Petey came around. He threw his arm over my shoulders, stopping me. "Last day of school, brother. Wanna party at my place tonight?"

Having to look away from Bella was painful, but I did it. I cleared my throat and smiled kind of … sort of. "Have you seen my sister?" Out of habit, I started to pat my pockets for my cigarettes.

Petey took the one from behind my ear and handed it to me. "Nope." He started to walk backward. "My place?"

I nodded.

When I turned back around, Garrett was pushing Bella's too-long bangs out of her eyes. She looked at me right as he was doing it. Her smile was gone.

I left, and it took every ounce of control I had not to fuck him up like I did Brady Fuller last year.

I heard her following me. Her sandals were smack, smack, smacking at a much too fast pace. She didn't call my name. Nah, that would have attracted attention, and I didn't turn around, because if I would have, I would have outed us on the spot. I would have grabbed Bliss by her fucking dress straps just to show Garrett they're mine. Her and those fucking straps are mine to keep. I would have broken his fucking fingers for touching them. I would have made sure he never made her smile like that again.

I bumped into my sister on the way to the car, but my mind was gone. I brushed past her, got into the Continental alone, and sped out of that motherfucker. I made it to the first light before my phone rang.

"Did you forget you're driving me home, douche bag?" Alice said on the other end.

I flipped a bitch and headed back to school.

Now she's getting in, and Bliss is with her.

"She's coming?" I ask, lighting that cigarette from earlier, not even looking as Bella slips into the back seat.

Alice slams the car door and buckles her seat belt. "Did Ben do all of your drugs or something? What the hell is your problem, Dusty?"

I laugh.

Bella's looking at me. Her eyes are in the rear view mirror, begging for me to look over. She wants my attention, but I'm not giving it to her. My heart's still beating too fast. I can feel its pulse in my fingertips and knuckles. Adrenaline hurries through my veins, and that little whisper says, _"You don't have to go through this alone, you know." _

I rub my nose, practically feeling its rush. It itches. My entire body fucking itches. And it's times like these when it's hardest to say no to the cravings. The want is so loud. It's chaos in my head. Everything is earsplitting and too fucking mixed up and too fucking twisted. My little sister keeps talking and I wish she would just shut the fuck up for five minutes. Good and evil clash and fight; my conscience tells me to do one thing, while cocaine whispers another.

I argue with myself, saying, _just do it,_ while the reason I shouldn't is sitting behind me, dying for my eyes.

_Why can't Bella want me like she does?_

By the time we reach the house, I'm anxious and twitchy and hungry for it. I finish my cigarette and run my hand through my hair. _You're here. Be here,_ I think to myself. _Be here. _I lean my head back and close my eyes.

"What the..." Alice trails off, getting out of the car. She doesn't shut the door, but the air coming in feels good so I don't say anything.

"What's wrong with your face?" Bella asks. Her voice is calm from the backseat.

I open my eyes, finally meeting hers in the mirror. Her hair is windblown and stuck to her face because I was driving with my window down. It's a different color strawberry in the sun. So are her freckles. Her cheeks are warmed scarlet, and her eyes are a concerned green. My face is tortured and harmed, but just looking at her settles me down and ties me in. I suck in a breath and rub the palms of my hands up and down my camouflage cargo shorts.

Baby leans forward, placing her lips right over my ear. "This is a crazy love," she whispers.

And just like that, I feel a little better.

"Did you know they were getting her that?" Bella asks. She looks past me, slipping out of the car.

Now that the onrush has slowed, I see what Bliss is asking about. My dad is home from work early, and Mom is with him. Her heels are high and her black jeans are tight. Mom's hair looks fervor-red in the sun, and her lips are colored to match.

So is the Jeep.

Alice's birthday came three months late.

I get out of the Lincoln and stand beside my dad. His face is perplexed and my mother looks horrified. Sixteen year old girls are not supposed to cry like Alice is when they get brand new car. But Mom and Dad should have listened when Alice said she didn't want a car; she wanted a new board … or a Vespa.

"What the fuck do I need a car for? Jasper can drive," she said the night before her birthday.

That was then, so maybe our parents figured since Jasper is no longer in the picture…

"Take it back!" Alice screams; black mascara-smudged tears run out of her beautiful blue eyes. "You're ruining my life!"

Bella covers her laugh.

Dad runs his hand through his hair, slouching his shoulders in defeat.

Mom turns beet-fire red like her lips and the truck.

Alice has been impossible lately. I'm sure this is them trying to make her feel better about the break up with Jasper. I mean, because a fucking hug isn't sufficient enough. No, she needs a brand new car to prove she's worthy of love.

"Don't act like a brat, Alice." I laugh, patting my dad on the back. He gives me a sideways look, which clearly states, _"Shut the fuck up, Dusty."_

Alice turns on me. "What the fuck do you know? You're never loved anyone but yourself."

She smacks away her tears, smudging wet mascara even more. Her hair is windblown like Bella's; it sticks to her tear soaked face and her high glossed lips. Alice has always been dramatic, and she's always pouted, but this is a whole new level of brainsick.

She stomps her foot and kicks dust at the tires. She screams, "Do you even know me, Dad? Do you?" and while Dad struggles for the answer to the simple question, Alice gives Mom an earful, too. "I'm not like you, Mom. I never will be, so stop shoving this shit down my throat!"

"Oh, God," I mumble, patting my pockets for another cigarette. "Chill out, drama girl."

"Fuck you!"

"Alice!" My mom, dad and Bella all say at the same time.

Little sister drops her backpack to the ground and cries, "I don't want this. All I want is my boyfriend back! This is your fault!" she screams. Alice points a finger at me before running up the steps, into the house.

The four of us left standing in the driveway are stunned stupid and quiet. I light my smoke and enjoy the sun in my girl's hair a little. A breeze rustles the surrounding trees before blowing through her dress. She's looking at the Jeep with envy. Her parents will never buy her a car like this for her birthday, so she appreciates its class. Unlike my ungrateful sister, Bella can't wait to be inside of it. She's looking forward to the summer in its passenger seat. Or maybe if she's lucky, in the driver's.

When baby looks away, she seems embarrassed. "I should probably go help," she says quietly, motioning toward the house.

But everyone's speechless, so she just goes.

After a moment of awkward silence I say, "I passed the eleventh grade," and shrug.

"Thank God for small miracles," Dad grumbles.

Inside the house, Pete calls me before I even hit the stairs. "You comin' or what?" I say yeah and hang up.

I pass Alice's bedroom and 'Knockin' on Heaven's door is playing from her stereo. My sister's sitting at the end of her bed with her feet on the ground and a tissue in her hand. She has a red, swollen face and raccoon eyes. She's laughing, though, because Bella is in front of her, dancing in her red dress, singing, _"It's getting dark, too dark to see."_ holding the bottom of her dress out like a princess, rocking and twirling and singing slowly with the slower song. She doesn't have her sandals on anymore, so her pink painted toes turn with the carpet. The bedroom is full of sunlight and laughter and lighter moods. And when the song ends, Bella jumps on Alice saying, "You got a new freakin' car!"

Alice pulls baby's dress up and smacks her ass over her light blue undies.

I walk away.

A couple of hours later, I wake up on my stomach with one shoe on and one shoe off. My room is dark and closed up, unlike when I fell asleep. I feel disoriented and warm. I didn't have intentions on sleep, but the bass humming though the walls from my sister's room took me away with thoughts of summer freckles and dancing toes.

Kicking my other shoe off, I turn over onto my back and reach for my cell phone on the nightstand. I haven't been going out as much, but my phone doesn't ring any less. Fifteen missed calls and I was only asleep for two hours. I toss it on Bliss' side of the bed and sit up to take off my shirt. I can feel the sleep marks on the side of my face, and after running my fingers through my hair, I know it's fucked up. My skin is tacky and the air is thick.

I close my eyes, not ready to face my phone or anything outside of this bedroom. It's the first night of summer and I told Pete I'd be over tonight, but after a few quiet seconds, I hear my girl laugh through the walls and I don't want to go anymore. I'd be perfectly content just being with her all summer season long.

My phone starts to ring and I pick it up. It's Pete.

"I thought you were coming over?" he asks. Music plays in the background and I hear Kim laughing.

I run my hand over my face and get out of bed. "I don't know," I say, walking over to my window. I open it and stick my head out.

The outside air smells like barbeque chicken and warm summertime nights. My dad is standing in front of the grill with a beer in one hand and tongs in the other, flipping dinner over. Mom is sitting in a chair beside him drinking a glass of wine. Her feet are bare and her hair is up in a ponytail. She's laughing, and he's laughing. I light a cigarette and they both look up and wave.

"Come down here, baby," Mom says.

I nod my head and slip back into my room. "Nah, Pete, I'm chillin' tonight." I look for a hat and take my socks off and replace them with a pair of flip flops.

Pete groans. "Come on, Edward. Dimitri actually graduated and he's coming over to celebrate. Don't be a pussy."

I laugh and open my bedroom door, deciding to leave my shirt off. "Sorry. Call me tomorrow."

I'm walking out of my room when Petey says, "Mixie is here, bro. Come get your dick sucked and drink a few brews with us."

I say goodbye and hang up before passing my sister's room. Her bedroom door is open and the light shining out of it illuminates the hallway. The rest of the house is dark and the air is humid-thick. It's good, though. I like the little reminders that warmth is here to stay for a while.

I stick a smoke behind my ear as I walk by, looking in. The girls are stomach-down on Alice's bed with their heads in the opposite direction, so they can't see me. The bottom of their feet are barefoot dirty and they wiggle their toes while they flip through this year's yearbook. The music is still on and up high; John Lennon is singing 'Stand by Me' and it couldn't be anymore perfect. The girls are laughing; Bella leans her forehead on Alice's shoulder, and my sister turns to kiss baby's hair.

It would be really fucked up if they weren't friends anymore.

I stand back and kind of, sort of watch, even though I shouldn't. Some shit has to be just theirs, and I know that, but they're happy, and it's been a while since I've seen my sister really smile.

But then Alice says, "When we go to California, do you think I'll forget Jasper?"

My eyebrows immediately push together in confusion. I step a little closer, just to make sure my ears aren't playing fucking tricks on me.

Bella shrugs, flipping the page. She points to a picture and Alice looks closer, commenting on someone's hair.

"You'll get back together, Alice. I mean, it's not like you want to be with Pete, right?" Bella's voice is cautiously careful, like maybe she doesn't even know what the answer may be.

I lean against the door jamb and wait for my sister's reply.

Alice is the one who shrugs this time. "I think it's easy to get shit confused. Pete … he's just Pete. I love Jas, and he's who I want to be with, but sometimes … I don't know, I wonder."

Bella closes the yearbook and says, "What if we move to California, then what?"

Alice is looking at my girl, and Bliss is looking at my sister, like they're trying to figure something out—plan shit. Their eyes are excited and their smiles are high.

I've never once heard a thing about California. Me and Bella don't keep secrets like that. But she's been good at betraying me lately. First with the sweater giver, now this. It's more than I can keep up with … I can't handle this shit coming from her.

So I say, "It's not like the high school sweetheart shit ever works out, anyway, Al."

Bella's smile is erased, replaced with wide-open eyes and caught-off-guard red cheeks. She sits up, leaning back on her calves. Her eyes are pleading with me, but it's too fucking late, and I'm angry … and hurt.

Aching.

And I'm sick of fighting.

Alice kind of turns, with her palm on the side of her face, she smiles. "Would you miss me if I moved, Dusty?" she asks.

I step away from the door jamb, doing my best to keep my emotions in check. I keep my eyes purposely away from Bella's, locking gazes with Alice. I can feel my face heating up as resentment and disappointment run through my veins. I want to call Bella out on her shit. She's so fucking fake; being in the same room as her makes me sick right now.

Fucking fraud.

She's a fucking liar.

She's a master-manipulator and trickster.

So maybe we're more alike than I thought.

I chuckle, taking my hat off. I run my fingers through my hair and turn to leave the room, but not before I say, "Yeah, Al, I'd miss _you_."

Instead of heading downstairs to be with my parents, I go back to my room. I slam the door and lock it. After tossing my hat on the bed, I rip open the top drawer of my dresser and look for my bag. I have enough to roll up, so I do. Once I'm smoking, it doesn't take long before I realize this isn't enough to cancel out this type of agony.

Going back into my dresser, I pull out my clothes and throw them across my room until I find the bottle of Vicodin I bought from Dimitri when I hurt my shoulder a while back. I throw a few in, and when their effect takes too long, I kick my kicked-too-many-times computer chair across the room.

My heart is hyper-beating. My knuckles itch, screaming to be pounded into something.

_California. _

_Fucking California? _

I pull at my hair with both hands, groaning.

_You want me. Come and get me,_ cocaine taunts.

My room is spinning around me and my life is literally spiraling out of control. My will, it's done … defeated.

What more can I do for her? What else can I do, when she's already making arrangements for a future without me?

This is worse than walking in on her kissing the boy. This is thinking ahead and planning. This is her considering living a life that does not involve me in it with her.

And I'm so jealous she's even able to do something like that, because I start and end with Bliss.

I push open my bathroom door and start the shower, avoiding the mirror. Under the hot water, the mixture of weed and pills start to work in my favor, taking the edge away. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

California.

California.

California.

Over and over and over until I punch the motherfucking shower wall and bust my knuckles open. But I don't feel anything. Not really. The only pain I feel is the one in my fucking heart.

I wrap a towel around my waist and find some clothes to wear. I feel like I'm swimming in a haze. Everything is kind of slow, sort of dragging. I pull a white v-neck over my head and a pair of dark denim up my legs. After my feet are in a pair of chucks, I find a hat and stick my cigarettes in my back pocket.

The only person I call on my way out the door is Pete, just to let him know I'm on my way.

I walk outside, ready to leave the house without a word to anyone. My left hand is still throbbing—pressure from the swelling. I use my good hand to unlock the door to my Continental, and I'm about to get in when Bella comes rushing out the front door.

"Where are you going?" she asks. I wonder why it feels like we've done this before.

She crushes leaves under her feet, walking toward me. I lean against the car, watching her come closer, still wearing the dress she let him touch, and it hurts, but I'm not really here. It's hard for me to concentrate. I'm fucked up, and it feels good to finally let go. When she's close enough, baby tries to grab my keys. I laugh out loud and stick them in my back pocket.

"You can't drive, Edward. You're high."

I smile and say, "Am not."

"I'm not stupid," she replies in a serious tone.

And she actually looks concerned, which surprises the fuck out of me, considering she wants to move to a different state and leave me here for fucking ever.

"I must be, though, right, baby?" I ask, lighting a cigarette. "Listen, B, I have—"

Before I can finish, she says, "You're kidding me, right? You don't actually think I'm going to California with Alice, do you?"

I take a drag and blow smoke over Bella's head. "That's what it sounded like to me, strawberry-blonde."

Bella's shoulders fall and her face softens. She comes a little closer. So close I can count the number of freckles on her nose. A nighttime breeze sails through the yard and baby's hair flies up around her head.

"You're wrong," she says, pushing blonde behind her ear.

When it falls back around her eyes, I move it this time. "How do you do it, Bliss?"

"Do what?" She turns her face into my hand and kisses the inside of my palm.

"Stop thinking about me."

In a sudden move, Bella grabs the front of my shirt and pulls. I laugh and take another hit from my cigarette before I toss it in the dirt. I'm laughing, and she's tugging. This is the kind of crazy I love.

"Are you kidding me?" she shrieks, a little louder than she should.

With her free hand, Bliss snatches a handful of hair close to my neck, under my hat, and I feel nothing but passion. The drugs numbed everything else but this. She's calling me a selfish prick and a gutless asshole. I love her words. I love her strength.

"Fight me, baby," I whisper into her her ear between shirt ripping and hair pulling.

I turn my head and capture her lips and push her back against the car. I place my hands on the sides of her face, gripping until she whimpers. Bliss opens her mouth and our tongues touch. I press my stomach against her stomach, and my chest against hers. And for a second I think I'll stay.

I back away from our kiss, keeping our faces close. She's breathing heavily. Her breath is sweet like candy and her eyes are wild like fire. Instead of pulling on me, she's clutching. "Stay," she says quietly, searching my entire face.

My head starts to spin again. I drop my left hand from her face to her neck. I lean in and kiss the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her throat. She quietly moans and wraps her legs around me. "Stay," she says again, only this time there is promise in her voice.

I push my hips between her thighs and watch her eyes roll. "Yeah?" I ask. She nods. "But, I though—"

"Just stay."

I drop B to her feet and open my car door to get my keys. I'm going to stay. Not for the sex, but for my girl. Because I should have known better. But then there are tire sounds from the end of the street. With my keys in my hand, I look down to see who it is.

I'm laughing again.

It's the fucking sweater giver and Jasper in an old pick up.

Bella tries to explain, "I didn't know they were coming, I swear. Alice must have just called them."

I believe her, but it doesn't fucking matter. Before the boys in the truck reach the end of the driveway, I reach in and kiss my girl. "Love you," I say.

"Will you be back tonight?" she asks.

I nod and get in the car.

.

.

.

"Want a line, bro?" Petey asks as he cuts up a rail for himself and Kim.

I'm sitting on a half-broken kitchen table chair across from them on the couch. Pete's house is hotter than mine. This night is relentless. All of the windows in the house are open, and there's a slight breeze coming through, but the air conditioner broke a couple of summers ago so the place never cools down. Once it's hot, it stays that way.

Kim has her hair up and her shoes off. She's in a dress and one of the straps is hanging down her arm. Fucked up and coke-bright, she has a huge hickey on the side of her neck and her lips are a little swollen. Pete has his shirt off and his belt is in the loops, but it's unbuckled and open. Mixie is around here somewhere, and Ben is on his way with Vic and Charlotte.

"I'm good," I say, taking a drink from my green-bottled beer.

I watch Petey and Kim snort their lines, and it's obvious it's not their first or their last of the night. After Kim's second, she falls back against the couch and laughs out loud. She closes her eyes and smiles, pushing her feet into Petey's lap.

Petey doesn't react like Kim does, though. He's cool and calm and collected, stretching his neck and shrugging his shoulders. His eyes are impossibly dilated and his cheeks are red, either from the coke or the warm air.

He drops the rolled up twenty onto the glass table and sits back, pulling Kim's feet into his lap. "Who ripped your shirt?" he asks me.

I look down and notice the neck of my tee is ripped around the collar. "Alice," I lie.

Pete sits up and rubs his nose; he shares a look with me I know too well—desperation. He reaches for his cell phone and cuts up another line with the phone at his ear, holding it up with his shoulder. I take another drink.

"I'm sorry I kissed you," Pete says into the phone. I roll my eyes. Kim sits up. "But you have to fucking talk to me, Alice. My life, it's incomplete without you."

He's being fucking dramatic and stupid, but he almost sounds sincere.

"You kissed Alice?" Kim asks, laughing, but not.

"Don't you miss me?" he asks. "What? No, I'm not high. Okay, yes I am."

"What the fuck?" Kim yells. She punches Petey in the shoulder.

"Kim, shut the fuck up!" Pete yells back. He gets up and walks toward the kitchen. His belt buckle bounces and clink-sings. "Did it mean more?" he asks my sister. "You know what I'd do for you. You fucking know..."

I get up and walk outside.

Which was a huge mistake.

Mixie is kind of, sort of beautiful in a really fucked up way. Her body language and appearance scream white trash, but there's a gentleness in her eyes. If you catch her off guard, sometimes she looks lost, like she's searching for something, or waiting to be found.

Someone should tell her she won't find shit riding dick all of the time.

She's smoking a cigarette, and when she sees me, she flicks it over the patio. "What's up, Edward?"

The lost look is gone; this is all Mixie.

She pulls a green plastic patio chair beside her white one. I'm hesitant. Nothing good ever comes from being this close to a Slut, but I sit anyway, and when the plastic bends and cracks, threatening to break under my weight, we both laugh. But the light moment only lasts for a moment. She has that look on her face already, and she's running her fingers up and down my arm. She gives me chills, but not for the reason she thinks.

I pull my arm away and laugh. "Do you have a smoke?" I have my own pack, but I need her hands to not be near me.

Mixie hands over a cigarette. It's not the kind I smoke, and when I light it, it tastes like shit. I keep my eyes away from the girl, making sure my body language is non-subjective. I haven't been with anyone in a while and I want to keep it that way, even if my lady is at home with another boy.

"Want a beer?" Mix asks. She gets up and walks to the sliding glass door.

"Yeah," I mumble, keeping my head down.

I'm conflicted and the bud from earlier is wearing off. Slowly the complete impact of my aching fucking heart is filling my chest. I take long deep drags from the shitty cigarette, but the smoke has nowhere to go because my lungs are full of desperation and hurt. I am wrecked and jealous for this; I know she loves me. She wouldn't go to California without me. I wouldn't let her. I just … I couldn't. But she's talked about it, and she's considered it, and she's there with him.

I can't sit still. I stand up and rub the palms of my hands down the front of my face.

Mixie is back with the beer … and a bong.

She takes a hit before handing it to me. I take a few deep pulls, but it doesn't work quick enough.

Mixie laughs when I drink the entire bottle of beer in one go. I toss the glass into the corner with the rest of them.

"I gotta go," I say, patting my pockets for my keys. I can't fucking be here. I'd rather be miserable with Bliss, than miserable alone. At least if I'm with her, we can be miserable together.

"What? You can't go." Mixie giggles, pushing me back into the plastic chair.

The chair breaks this time, and I hit the deck and laugh. This is so fucking stupid.

"I swear I didn't mean for that to happen!" Mixie is laughing hard. Her eyes water and she holds her hands over her mouth. She's wearing a dress, too. Hers is bright pink and short. It moves at her sides when she walks, but it doesn't sway.

Mixie's dress is deviant, because under all that pretty-pink is a salacious slut.

I kind of like hearing her laugh, though. So I stand up and kick the chair to the side with the empty glass bottles and cans. "I'll see you, Mix."

"Wait!" She leans her head back and turns the beer bottle upside down, drinking the last of the liquid. "Can we like, talk?"

"Talk?" I ask, feeling uncomfortable. I reach in my back pocket for my cell phone. I have a message from my girl.

_Jasper's here, but he told Alice they're only friends. She's crying again. Come home. _

I slip my phone back into my jeans and shrug. "Sure."

Mixie lets me sit in her chair; it doesn't break. She runs in for another beer and comes back with two. I crack it open just as Mixie drops to her knees.

I act indifferent.

That's our deal.

"I thought you said you wanted to talk?" I take a nervous drink. Mixie unbuckles my belt so it hangs open like Petey's.

"I do," she says, unbuttoning my jeans.

"To my dick?" I laugh.

She unzips me and tries reach in, but I stop her. Mixie is so fucking unconnected. Her face is gone … blank. She's going with the motions; doing what she knows. What kind of dark place does she go when she does shit like this?

"I..." I start, "gotta piss." I stand up and walk inside the back door.

Petey and Kim are fucking on the couch. The cell phone he was talking to my sister on is clutched in his hand. His ass is out and her dress is up. Pete might know I'm here, but Kim doesn't. He's fucking her hard, holding onto the back of the couch for strength. It bangs against the thin wall, and their skin slaps every time they connect.

I fix my pants and refasten my belt. I'm heading toward the front door when Dimitri walks in.

"Whoa, shit!" He laughs out loud.

Petey turns his head and smirks, but Kim keeps her eyes closed. She's oblivious.

Dim watches for a couple of seconds before he looks away and holds up a bottle of Johnny Walker. "Are you going to celebrate with me since our friends," he glances at Pete and Kim again, "are preoccupied?"

I agree without a second thought.

In the kitchen, we go shot for shot. Dimitri talks about plans for college, because he's going, he swears. "I'm not staying in the fucking town another year," he says before tossing back another round. "Don't tell anyone, but I want to be a teacher."

I almost spit booze all over the kitchen.

Mixie eventually stumbles in from outside, and Petey and Kim stop fucking long enough to join us. Victoria, Charlotte and Ben arrive ten minutes after that. We're drinking and talking, and it feels normal. Like we're just a bunch of stupid fucking kids getting into a little bit of trouble, and I manage to push back some of my worries.

But these worries are heavy.

Mixie creeps under Dimitri's arm and whispers, "Do you have any blow?"

He looks concerned for a second, but then he nods.

That carefree, normal mood I was just in erases, leaving anxious, craving, and tired. I can't bring myself to look as he passes her what she wants. If I do, I might give in. So I take another shot and I'm out of the kitchen.

"You good, bro?" Ben asks. He has his arm over Victoria's shoulders.

"Yeah, I gotta pee," I answer casually.

"Again?" Mixie yells and everyone laughs.

Petey's bathroom is gross. It smells like piss and puke, and the linoleum floor is peeling in the corner, ripped right up the middle and covered in dirty clothes. The tub is clean, though. My best friend can't stop his mom from getting shit faced and throwing up everywhere, but he can make sure his shower is kosher.

I grab a towel out of the small cabinet and throw it over the toilet before I sit down. I call my girl.

"Hi, Mom," she answers with wittiness.

"Are they around?" I ask, sitting back and closing my eyes. I can hear everyone in the kitchen having a good time.

"Yeah."

"Is he near you?"

"No." Her answer is quick and impassive. She's busy; music plays in the back, and I can hear my sister beside her.

"Toss the fucking quarter, Bliss," Alice yells. "Oops. Sorry, Mrs. Swan," she apologizes for her language.

"I thought she was crying?" I ask, holding a hand over my chest. It feels full and empty and fucking collapsed.

"Not anymore," Bella says, and then she laughs. I think she drops the phone because there's a lot of muffled commotion. When she picks it back up, baby says, "Okay, Mom. I'll see you soon."

"Sure," I answer.

"I love you," she says softly.

I'm going to say it back, but I want to tell her I'm coming home first. Right before the words come out of my mouth, I hear the motherfucker. He's near her, and they're drinking, and my girl is tipsy-giggles.

Bella must be more drunk than she realizes, because when Garrett says, "Come on, Bella, hang up the phone," she says, "Shhh!"

I hang up.

When I'm back in the kitchen, Dimitri asks, "You in on this?"

Without hesitation, I nod.

The moment she hits my nose, I'm in complete and fucking utter _Bliss_.

.

.

.

"Fuck it, swerve on 'em," Dimitri waves off the cop cruiser driving in front of me.

We're in my car and I don't even remember leaving the kitchen.

"Don't do it, Edward. That's Bella's pops," Petey says from the backseat.

I feel like everything is moving in fast motion. Pete, Kim, Vic, Mixie and Charlotte are all piled in the back, and Ben is sitting between me and Dim in the front. He has a 40 oz. between his knees and a shit eating grin on his face. Time is moving in flashes … quick flashes. Colors are bright and air is thin and clear and I feel nothing.

"Little Isabella Swan?" Dimitri asks.

Petey's eyes meet mine in the rear view mirror. I clear my throat and sit up in my seat. I focus on driving. My heart is beat-pumping against my chest. My knuckles turn white as I grip onto the steering wheel. My skin feels alive, and I feel like I have all of the strength in the fucking world.

"She isn't so little anymore," Dimitri adds with a smirk.

"Dim," Pete speaks up from the back. "You're cool because you're like, this bad ass drug dealer, but little sisters are untouchable, my man."

Chief Swan moves over to the left lane. I speed up. The energy in the car becomes suffocatingly silent and stiff.

"Dusty, slow the fuck down," Ben whispers.

I don't think anyone is breathing besides me. I breathe freely because the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I'm being fucking strangled and pulled. I'm stronger than this motherfucker—her dad. He might have the upper hand now, but one day I'm going to take his precious Isabella Bliss away from him. Then what?

Nothing.

I smirk at the chief as we pass. He checks out my car, and it takes him a second to realize it's me.

He waves.

And I wave back.

.

.

.

"Where the fuck are we?" I ask and everyone laughs.

The Sluts are all in their bra and underwear dancing around me and my boys. Charlotte, in a light blue thong and black bra, pops her ass right in front of me. I drag my hands down my face and laugh.

I look around, and I still have no fucking idea where I'm at, but the window is open and it's still dark out. Petey and Ben are beside me, so I know I'm good.

"Dance with me!" Kim talks over the music. Her eyes are consumed in black and her underwear and bra are all white. She drags me to the middle of the living room and moves. "Come on, Edward, dance." So I do, and it feels fucking amazing … and fun.

Flight Facilities thump-beats through the speakers and moves through my skin. I feel it in my bones and through each nerve. Our friends laugh and point while Kim and I dance. I spin her around and she drops before coming back up. She holds onto my sides and sway, sway, sways.

How my girl did at prom.

I look around for Dimitri. He's in front of a glass coffee table with Mix, chopping a few rails. I kiss Kim on the tip of her nose and pass her to Vic.

Dimitri does his first, then me, then Mix.

Mixie's nose starts to bleed.

.

.

.

Somehow we end up at Ben's.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"It's four in the morning," Victoria answers.

The Sluts have their clothes back on. We're all sitting around Ben's diner table. The dinning room is lit up and food is everywhere. A big fucking plate of spaghetti sits in front of me. It spins my stomach.

"Is this mine?" I ask Victoria.

She laughs and nods. "Ben woke his mom up and told her we were hungry. This is leftovers!"

Ben sits at the head of the table and his fat Italian mom is squeezing his cheeks. "Il mio bambino," she says.

.

.

.

It's daylight. It's only me, Dimitri, Victoria and Mixie in my car. I'm driving.

"Where are we going?" I ask anyone.

"Seattle."

.

.

.

I'm in a stranger's bedroom. In their bed.

"Come on," Victoria whispers beside me. She's undressed, but I'm not. "I want to break you down so badly."

"Vic, get off me."

.

.

.

I'm in a stranger's bathroom. In their shower.

.

.

.

I'm in a stranger's kitchen. Doing lines off of his counter.

The stranger's name is Sam. He's friends with Dimitri.

.

.

.

The house is full of people, but I'm sitting outside with a beer and a cigarette watching the sun come up.

I have no fucking idea what time or day it is. I have no clue where I am or how many hours have passed since I left Forks.

My heart is beating her name again. My skin is itching for a different reason now. I've given into cocaine, but her whispers are replaced with another.

_Hey boy,_ _I love you. Hey, trouble, come kiss me on the lips_

I type _soon_ into my phone right before it dies.

Then I go back inside.

And it doesn't feel a thing like falling.


	21. All of This

**We do not own Twilight. New Moon was better.**

**All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer, Sublime, The Kills, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Taking Back Sunday, The Doors, Modest Mouse, Will Ferrell and Adam McKay.**

**Teambella is my babymonsterbaby and LovelyBrutal is my lovelilystar. Thank you both for keeping me on my toes. **

**The Naked and Famous - All of This: **_As the plans turn into compromise, the promises all turn to lies. The spite builds up and I can't get through. Passive me. Aggressive you. I know I nag. I moan, I know, but with a plan like this it's way too slow. In the time it took to get this bad, I could have made this work, but all I had was the hope that the pieces would take shape. And we could watch them all fall into place._

_All of this is tearing us apart._

_I don't know where us or this start_

**Chapter Twenty – Bella**

It was just after two o'clock when I left Ally's bed. It's almost three a.m. now.

I stretch out on my back, sliding my arms and legs through cool gray. Edward's sheets and pillows encircle me, but I want him here. I want him surrounding me, moving with me.

Turning onto my side, I face his window. I haven't spent a night alone in his bed in so long, but I haven't forgotten this anxiousness or this longing. I'm fully aware of the battles I chose. I'm well acquainted with every ache and twist and tear that comes along with being Edward's safe spot.

I close my eyes and feel my heart beat, wondering how his is pounding in this moment. I wish so hard he'd come home.

It's summertime, but even if it wasn't, it's not unusual for him to be out two or three nights in a row. This isn't like that, though. I can't quite get my head around it, but this absence is foreign. Even when he used to go out for a few nights on end, he would still stumble in sometime the day after for shelter, rest and food, but not today.

Not yesterday.

I close my eyes tighter.

The last time I heard from Edward was Saturday afternoon. I was sitting on the sofa with Ally, watching Jeopardy and missing him. I hadn't heard from him since he left me for Pete's the day before.

_Hey boy, I love you. Hey trouble, come kiss me on the lips,_ I texted.

And he replied so simply, so quickly: _soon._

So, I thought he'd come to me that night, but he didn't.

And when I texted him _Good morning, I miss you_, yesterday, I never heard back. I was hurt, but I sucked it up and took it for what it was. Edward doesn't want to answer to anyone. I get it. I feel that.

I do.

But then I didn't hear from him all of Sunday either. Things were crazy for a minute, when he heard Alice and I talking about California, but he knows. He has to know I can't go anywhere without him. How can he not? He kissed me before he left and he said he'd be back… but this silent absence is stretching way too long.

Earlier today, I called and his phone went straight to voicemail. I told him I missed him. _A lot_.

I called again this afternoon, but didn't leave a second message. I was scared my voice would shake. We haven't gone this long without contact in almost two years.

I blink and try to relax my eyelids easily closed. I tell myself he's fine. He's with his friends and his phone is probably dead since he hasn't been home. He knows I love him. He has to know this is killing me. And he'll call. Or text. Or break in.

And surround me, just exactly how I want him to.

Curling tighter and smaller on my side, I press my lips together and scrunch all the muscles in my face to hold my tears back. I don't want to cry, but it hurts so deep because what did I expect? This is exactly how we are.

The truth is, I love a boy who can't get his shit together for anything, but without him I can't breathe. Edward _is_ love to me. Something inside me deeper than my blood and stronger than my heart, needs him and has us forever connected.

_How can I not wish he was here, always?_

_How can I not forgive him anything and everything?_

I purse my lips and blow air out intentionally slowly.

Worry creeps up my back. The goose bumps it sends down both my arms feel prickly-painful, freezing cold. I pull my boy's flannel sleeves down around my fingers and swipe away my drops of sad and scared.

_I'm here. I'm right where I'm supposed to be. I'__m the only place I want to be. Why isn't he here?_

I want him here so much that I'd take him in any state of mind or repair. Bloody knuckles and a dirty conscience. High as a kite in the clouds or in tears on his knees. It doesn't matter. None of that matters. I just want him here.

I pull air in cautiously through my nose. It burns. The hurt in my sinuses makes oxygen feel like fire.

Love is learning how to breathe.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

I take in a little more burning. I concentrate on it, on breathing. It's all I let myself focus on. I don't think about how I wish the air was shared, tinted with Double Mint and true love instead of fear. I don't think about what could be, or where he should be. I don't even think _he has to be okay_, because I can't. He's pushing me every minute he's gone, and I'm slipping to the point where I can't think about him in any capacity at all without starting to panic.

So, I curve my knees even closer to my chest and burrow deeper under his blankets. I hold my inhale for one, two, three needy heartbeats before I let it go.

Slow.

Steady.

An action that should be thoughtless and natural has become one I have to constantly measure out.

.

.

.

My alarm wakes me at five-fifteen.

Glowing blue before-dawn-light surrounds me.

Love does not.

My eyes hurt before they're even all the way open. I reach under Edward's pillows for my phone and I know before I look, and _God –_

_I just want to love him._

It hurts. Everything hurts.

I close my hand over my phone screen and press my lips together tightly. Every fiber I'm made of clenches in on itself and all my muscles pull, and I'm so scared.

It's Monday morning and he's still gone.

I'm always here for him, and I need him now. This isn't fair. This isn't right, and I can't even nurse my hurt. I have to bite and swallow all of it down like a poison. I have to push his covers away and leave his bed. I have to take his flannel off and put it back on his desk chair.

_Please, come home_, I text him, burying my hurt and anger and fear with every step I take away from his desk, toward his door and down the hall.

Alice is on her stomach with her arms out when I return to her room. Her summer blonde hair is everywhere and she's snoring lightly. I take a breath to push my distress deeper away and toss my phone into the pile of our clothes before crawling in with her.

She doesn't budge or miss a beat of sleep. I smile, grateful for and envious of her at the same time. She's literally the heaviest sleeper ever.

I tug the blankets and she sleep-snorts. I giggle and her sleep-snort curves into a sleep-smile as she rolls onto her side, pulling me close. I wrap my left arm around her and hum, combing through her blonde.

"He texted me," she whispers, and I know right away she means Jasper. I'm also crazy-nervous suddenly she noticed I was gone.

"While you were in the bathroom. He texted and said he wants to see me again."

My nervousness dissipates and I smile because I can feel how full of hope her heart has swelled. It offers comforting hope to my own heart. She loves Jasper so much. She loves him madly and he has to know that. He's perfect for her. He has to forgive her.

"He has some stuff to do with his dad this morning, but later," she continues, her voice still dream-lilted and restful. She says it again. "He said he wants to see me."

"He loves you," I tell her, because I know. Sometimes love just needs to really, truly see you to know you're real, and for real. Jasper knows that. He just needs to remember. Everyone was around the other night when they came over. He needs to lay his eyes on just her, then he'll see.

I hug Alice closer under her blankets and kiss the top of her head. "He loves you so much," I say again. "Maybe even half as much as I love you," I tease, and I do. I'm doing wrong, but I love her so much.

Ally laughs and we curl on our sides facing one another. The blue glow of morning isn't half as bright in here as it is in her brother's room. Beaded curtains in the pattern of Mexican blankets hang in front of both her windows, letting only rectangle outlines of dawnlight in.

"I love you like Ramona. Am I the only one? Tell me," Alice yawns and smiles.

I smile too and kiss her nose. "I love you like you're not the only one, but you're the best, Bradley."

She gives me a whispered "boom, boom," and relaxes into her pillows. I stretch with her and give myself what rest I can.

I hit sleep so fast I don't even know how long we're out when there's a knock on her door sometime later.

"Alice, I'm sorry, baby," Esme gently greets as she opens the door. Fully risen sunlight glows hot around Ally's windows as she sits and rubs her eyes. I lean up onto my elbows and blink to bring Esme into focus. She stands in the doorway looking kind of, sort of painfully out of her element. Her robe is untied and she's still in her ivory night gown. Her eyes are slightly sleep-puffy and her face is un-made-up. She looks like I feel, like it's taking everything she has to push-swallow down all her unease.

"Have you heard from your brother?" She asks. Her tone was meant to be nonchalant sounding, but I hear concern she can't help.

My heart shivers and cracks around a beat.

Alice yawns and shakes her head. "Nope," she says, sounding half-sorry and half-annoyed. She watches her mother nod and close the door behind her when she leaves.

When we're alone again, she rubs her barely awake blues and pulls a hair-tie from her bracelet covered right wrist. "He's such a dick." She loops the hair-tie back and forth around her fingers. "He could at least fucking answer her."

I nod. I know. Not exactly the same, but I know.

Ally stands up out of bed and shakes her hair out before flipping it all over her left shoulder. She doesn't have to say a word for me to feel how much she doesn't want to be here, and I can't blame her. I want to be here in case Edward does decide to come home sometime today, but the thought of watching Esme worry hour after hour knots my stomach something awful. Keeping my own anxiety in check feels like it might be impossible next to her.

My best friend sits at her make-up and magazine covered desk, and pulls her knobby knees under her chin. The black polish on her toes is chipped and the roots of her hair look a little shampoo-thirsty. Her heart is equal parts hurting and hopeful, and she's so many kinds of beautiful. It's in her un-cut-ness. Ally is innocence and brashness together. Always, she's unrefined perfect.

I sit up and hang my feet over the edge of her bed. She throws a pink paper plane made out of a months-old-detention slip at me. "Let's go to the beach."

"What about your mom?" I ask as I stand, making my way to her dresser as she does. Her second drawer from the top is nothing but swimwear and we dig through it together.

Alice shrugs as she pulls her tee-shirt up and grabs a black bikini halter top. "She'll call me if she needs me," she answers simply, plucking a pair of neon pink bottoms from her drawer and heading toward her bathroom.

While she gets ready, I tie on a bright turquoise two piece and pull a pair of jean shorts up my legs. I tug a white tank over my top half and my thin white sweater from yesterday over that. While she brushes her teeth, I grab two towels and she puts them into a bag while I brush mine. Downstairs, we make peanut butter jellies and pack a mini-cooler of passion fruit juice boxes and fresh peaches. We apparently intend to be gone all day.

The sun is June-noon bright and the breeze whirling around us in her Jeep is just right. She turns The Kills up and lets her left hand wave out her window, and I'm so glad she doesn't really hate this car. This is what I needed. Fresh air and sunlight and beats and waves and life. I need to live. I need to feel alive.

We find a spot to ourselves at First Beach and get right into the summer-warm water. We swim deep and far, and float together for a long time.

She tells me her parents are crazy.

She tells me she doesn't understand who her brother thinks he is. "He's being stupid," she says. "Not even Pete knows where he is."

"You talked to Pete?" I ask, jealous that she can ask him such things while I cannot, and a little surprised after his intoxicated apology the other night.

I guess it makes sense, though.

"Yeah." Alice shrugs. "He's Petey." Her tone is warm and forgivingful, and for the first time since I saw them on the beach, I maybe actually sort of get it.

I love Ally so much. I've known her for what feels like forever and I'd truly do anything for her.

And Pete has been in her life even longer than I have.

And I know in my heart of hearts there's not a tingle-turn-on in the whole world like trust, and I _know_ Ally trusts that punkass with her life. I know she trusts Jasper too, but doing so doesn't just negate the trust and closeness and kind of naturally easy loyalty she has with Petey, or him with her.

"Sometimes you just get caught up," she tells me, moving her arms through the water, closing and opening her hands.

We're quiet for a minute and I glance over at her, squinting my eyes against the sun. There's uncertainty in Ally's sky that makes her look exactly seventeen. "They have a game Tuesday," she says. "I highly doubt Edward's going to miss that."

My struggling-to-stay-intact heart aches for her to be right, but her voice sounds every bit as doubtful and self-convincing as I feel.

_He's messing up really bad this time._

_He's scaring everybody, and it hurts._

_Everybody._

I know this, but all I say is "yeah,"because_ what else can I say?_

Alice dunks under and comes back up sparkling-soaked. I do the same and when I resurface, I hear her phone the same time she does.

It's _Down on the Corner._

It's love.

Alice dips under again and swims quickly for the beach. I follow in less of a hurry.

I'm tired. I'm dazed.

I focus on the cool-warmth of the wind on my bare skin as I step out of the water. I watch my best friend answer love's call and my heart stings, but I push it down.

I can't even think about it.

I swallow and drop it all to my chest. I double and redouble the weight of fear on my heart with hurt that has nowhere else to go.

"They'll be here in a little bit," Ally says, shifting her weight from foot to sandy foot.

She's miles ahead of me in a way. Sex has given Alice something I still don't quite understand, but here and now, she looks Valentine's day shy again.

"It'll take them a while, though," she adds, glancing around before looking at me.

So, we put our sunglasses back on and head a little higher up the beach. We spread our towels out in the sunshine and Ally lays down on her back. I fold a small towel even smaller for a pillow and lay on my stomach.

I focus on the sound of the waves and the change in my chest-pressure as I breathe in and out. I draw circles in the sand in front of me and concentrate on the feel of it between my fingertips. I listen to the birds call to each other while tears continue to swell behind my shades. I hold every one of them back as the sun shines bright on every inch of me. From my neck and shoulders to the bottoms of my feet, it beats hotter with every passing minute. I feel drained. I feel worn out under its heat. My eyes are closed and I'm flat on the sand, but I'm so tired I feel dizzy.

I breathe slower, steadier, and just as I almost nod off, I hear a car. I tilt my head and look to see Garrett's old blue and white pickup. Alice stretches and sits all the way up, so I do, too. Still sleepy-dazed, I shift slowly to sit criss-cross applesauce on my towel while Garrett parks across from us.

Hooking his keys on his belt loop, he gets out with a sucker stick in the corner of his mouth. He has on dark aviators and a Danger Mouse tee-shirt, and his hands are casually dug into the front pockets of his khaki cut-offs.

I feel all my straining muscles go weak. Garrett looks like cool welcome comfort. Without even thinking, I want to run to him.

Guilt sharpened with shame hooks and pulls at my heart. I almost wince. I just barely contain it. I hold it in with everything else.

My attention turns, though, as Jasper opens the passenger door and gets out. He's not wearing any sunglasses, but I can't see his eyes, and he's looking down.

I glance to Ally. She hides it well, but I can see it just as certainly as I can feel it―she's petrified of the still unfolding repercussions of her actions.

It's more than I can take.

"Go to him," I whisper, combing my fingers through my semi-dry water-wavy hair. And I'm glad she moves because I hate seeing her in pain, and they're supposed to be together. _Right?_

Black and pink and blonde, Alice grabs a peanut buttery jelly from our cooler and makes her way barefoot to Jasper. She leaves her flip flops, her towel, and the rest of her clothes behind.

I look up from my red-blonde ends and Garrett's walking over. He smiles with his sucker between his back teeth and his cheek. "Hey," he says.

I say "hey," back, and I think that's going to be it. I guess we're going to sit here on the beach and quietly wait for our friends, but then he turns and looks over his shoulder. I try to follow his glance, but I'm not sure what he's looking at.

"It's a few hours away still, but there's a storm coming," he says, facing me again. "You can see it over the pass."

Which explains why I can't see it from where I'm sitting. I nod and nudge my hair over my shoulder, letting it all fall down my back.

Garrett pulls his right hand from his pocket. He nods too, but his head goes back a little, toward the horizon. "Wanna go for a drive?"

All my tightly-twisting muscles go weak again, more so this time. But I'm ready to relax, just for the littlest bit. And guilt pulls again, but _what can I do? What am I supposed to say, no?_

_I just want not to hurt._

_And I want to go see the storm and be in his car, and that's not wrong. It can't be wrong to want comfort from hurting._

"Yeah," I say, dusting my hands off. I stand carefully, leaving my shorts and flip flops by my towel. Pulling only my white sweater over my two blue pieces, I tug the sides together and belt it around my middle. I follow Garrett back to his Chevy and hang back while he opens my door, and when guilt pulls this time, it doesn't even matter.

I can get in the car with another boy, or with anybody right now and it doesn't matter because my boy isn't here. Because this is Edward's way of showing me _exactly_ how little he actually cares.

This time when I swallow, guilt burns bitterly and I can taste resentment replacing hurt. But the moment I sit down in Garrett's truck, it's easier to dismiss. The scent of bonfires and hot chocolates and clean rain surrounds my senses and consoles my nerves . I breathe in and know the smell of rain is actually in the air all around us, but it smells sweeter, cleaner in his car. I feel safe here just like I knew I would, in a way that I don't really feel anywhere else.

I feel a kind of safe when I'm with Edward. I know he'd protect me with his life from anyone and anything, but he can't and doesn't protect me from himself.

The boy that slides in next to me, though, the one checking all his mirrors and buckling his seat belt before he turns the key in the ignition―this boy with streaks of scarlet begonia red and snowdrop white paint on his so-faded Levis―this boy, literate and stylish, kissable and quiet―this boy with his eyes on east coast art schools and his heart wide open―_this boy_ would never hurt me.

I feel so grateful. It's a little overwhelming, how strong my thankfulness suddenly is.

Buckling my own seat belt, I look over. Behind his aviators, Garrett's eyes are on the road. The radio is connected to his iPod, and when he reaches to turn it on, _Love Me Two Times_ starts halfway through, low and warm. We don't drive very far, just a few minutes back up to a higher, more open spot where he backs into a row of parking spaces facing west.

He was right, you can see the storm coming in, and even though it sort of crept up out of nowhere, it looks like it's been building for days. Maybe longer. Dark gray, too-puffy clouds roll toward us. Miles away, their movement looks slow from here, but I know they have to be moving so fast for us to see them move at all. Some of them are so dark they look black, and as they move, they slowly cover other green-gray storm clouds, stuffed full of rain.

Garrett cuts the engine off, but leaves the music playing. _LA Woman_ has started and he leans back in his seat. I do the same, pulling my long sleeves down over my hands.

"So," he starts after a moment, taking his sunglasses off and setting them on the dash. I push mine up to the crown of my head and look over as he looks at me. "Is Alice going to take Jasper back?"

I snort-laugh before I can catch or stop myself. "What?" I ask, because really, _what?_

Garrett furrows his dark brows over his darker eyes. Russet and fallow brindle sincerely around his irises like warm autumn. His look is pure sepia-toned benevolence, but there's confusion there. He's seriously asking if Alice is going to take back her true love.

"Are you kidding?"

"No." He pauses and smiles a little, sliding his hand down his face. "No, Jas―

I don't know whether to shake my head or nod. On one hand, logically, he's right, but on the other, when is love logical? It's so often the complete and total opposite. People make mistakes, and maybe Alice and Petey making out wasn't even a mistake. Maybe it's just a thing that happened.

So, instead of nodding or shaking my head, I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know," I say, still thinking on it. It's strange because I have felt the same way he's describing about Edward. Like_, if Edward wanted me, how could he touch anybody else? Did being with Victoria negate how much he wanted me? _

_No. Not really. _

_I know he wants to be with me. It's visceral and undeniable, and he's trying so hard..._

My stomach twists.

_At least he was. Until this. Until now..._

Guilt rehooks my heart, but not like before. It's not the same guilt I felt on the beach, for wanting comfort, but for the fact that I could have said yes to Edward and I didn't. I could have said yes any of the hundred times he asked me to be his girl and maybe he'd be here, or I'd be wherever he is._ If I had said yes_ _just once over the last few months, how different could right now be?_

Lighting crawls through the clouds in front of us, drawing me back to the present. Thunder, so far away I barely hear, follows, and I trade thinking about what could be for what is. "Of course she wants to be with him," I say. A yawn comes up with my words and I stretch through it, relaxing in the well-worn seat. "They're so meant to be it's insane," I tell him. "How long has it been, ten minutes? Fifteen?"

Garrett chuckles, stretching and leaning like I just did. It brings us a little closer, leaving just a few inches of space on the bench seat between us. "Give or take, yeah. Why?"

I blink and feel my lips turn up, wanting optimism, needing it. "They're probably already having make-up sex."

Garrett exhales a full laugh into his chuckle. We're both looking ahead and though we aren't touching, we're close enough that I feel his shoulder rise a little with his intake and let go of air. I smell his mountain spring clean boy-soap and fresh fabric softener and the slightest hint of strawberry from his sucker. The clouds grumble louder and roll closer, but are still so far. It'll be evening before they're on top of us.

I yawn again, from deeper in my lungs this time, and we're quiet after that. Meadowlarks and The Doors keep us comfortable company. The breeze blows easily through both our open windows, and I'm so exhausted that it takes nearly no time for my eyelids to sink.

The sleep I find is solace, a soft sojourn into much needed rest and relief. I sleep so deeply I don't feel the rain start to fall or hear the thunder rumble deeper. I don't dream or ache, or wonder or worry; I just sleep.

When I feel Garrett shift, reaching over me to roll my window up to keep the rain out, I blink a tiny bit conscious, but I don't come all the way up.

"It's okay," he whispers, shifting back into the position I didn't realize we were in until he left it. The second he leans back, though, my body instantly recognizes how we were: sort of in the middle of his truck seat with my head on his shoulder.

He rests his left hand on his stomach, and I curve my left arm around his right. I press my hands together again between my bare mid-thighs, and Garrett lays his right hand over the outside of my right knee.

He doesn't stroke his thumb or apply any kind of pressure. He doesn't slide or push or circle. He just holds onto me, gently and just barely, but there's security there. His palm feels so warm. His touch is clean and and carefully strong. His hand feels trustworthy.

I nestle a little deeper into comfort.

"Is this alright?" I ask without looking up or really knowing why. My eyes are already closed again and my heart is beating sleepy-slow. I'm drifting back under before I hardly hear him answer.

"Yeah," he says above my head, his voice air-light and his tone kind. Rain falls and thunder growls, and the world keeps turning outside, but we're still and safe here. I feel Garrett's voice more than I hear it. "You can sleep, B."

.

.

.

I don't wake again until Alice is knocking on my window. Again, I don't know how long I've been out, but there's no light left in the sky. It's gone from raining to pouring and Ally is laughing while she soaks it up.

"Wake the fuck up, sleeping beauty," she teases through the glass. Jasper is behind her, holding his hands over her forehead to keep the raindrops from her eyes. I catch the corner of his smile as she moves. "Don't you know it's raining out here?"

I laugh as I sit up, rolling my window down a little bit. "What's up?" I ask, still half asleep. "What's the plan?"

"We're starving!" she says, reaching her left hand behind herself, tickling the side of Jasper's stomach. They're both totally drenched, which is fine for Ally because she's still in her swimsuit, but Jas is soaked from his messy blonde mop to his untied Chucks. "And we want real food."

I give her the double thumbs-up and roll my window closed while they turn together, jogging back down toward the beach.

For a minute, I'm smiling. I yawn and stretch as I turn in my seat, and for a minute, nothing twists or strains. Garrett rubs his left eye with the heel of his left hand, flipping through his iPod with his right. He glances over and his sleepy eyes are as kind as always. He just barely smiles, like he's keeping something so strong in check behind his lips.

I smile too, because just for a minute, nothing hurts.

But then my heart beats.

And it's two syllables that make every bone in my body tremble-shake.

And I remember I have no idea where my love is, and once again, everything hurts.

Ever conscious of keeping our secret a secret, even when love could care less about it, I don't let my smile fall or my worry show. I work the microscopic muscles in my lips to curve them even higher, reaching deeper inside for more strength, and I rub my eyes too, embellishing my just-woke-up-ness while I gather my grip.

_The World at Large _starts and Garrett sets his iPod in the space that's stretched between us again. He slips his sunglasses into the collar of his tee shirt before reaching for his keys.

"Guess that answers that," he sort of says, kind of asks, his left eyebrow a little higher than his right.

For a second, I'm not sure what he's referring to. I raise my own eyebrow.

He looks down, shaking his head a little, concealing his subtle smile. "Ally and Jas," he says, starting his truck.

"Oh." I feel like a moron. "Yeah, I guess it does." I grab my sunnies from the dash and push them on to the top of my head while Garrett turns the windshield wipers on.

He reaches for his seat belt and looks left and right, and into the rear view mirror. He looks straight ahead and flips his headlights on, then slows the wipers.

When he gives me a glance and asks if I'm ready, I am. So, I nod. He looks left and right again, cautious of other cars. He turns the music up and shifts from park to drive, but he doesn't actually start to move until I reach for my seat belt, too.

.

.

.

Turns out, _that_ doesn't really answer _that_ at all.

Alice and Jasper are next to each other on the love seat. He's writing something on the bottom of her left shoe and her lips are hard-kissed dark pink, but they're not "together."

She told me so upstairs, while we were changing. I thought I kind of understood, but I don't know.

"We don't need to call it anything," Ally said, lining her bottom lids with a black pencil while I pulled jeans on.

After we left La Push, Garrett and I followed the two of them to Jasper's before we came back to Alice's so she and I could shower clean. It was so hot today out in the sun, and I'm thankful Esme has the air conditioning on. But while there's still heat under the surface of my skin, it's sort of freezing in here. Even Carlisle has a hoodie on. Esme's the only one beside Garrett in short sleeves.

I have one of Alice's sweaters zipped up and the hood over my hair. The sleeves are down around my hands, but my nose is cold. And so are my toes.

I lean my head back on the couch, making an intentional effort not to check my phone. Next to me, with more than a few inches between us, Garrett leans back, hands together in his lap. Across from the two of us, Alice audibly lights up at whatever Jasper wrote on her shoe. She reaches for the marker, and her not-boyfriend's left foot.

"The label doesn't matter," she said upstairs, pulling an oversized gray sweatshirt on and nudging it off her shoulder. "We still are what we are."

And she's smiling. And that makes sense, I guess. I get it, but I don't know. Their happiness doesn't look disingenuous, but it's not like before. _How can it be?_

I push my hand through my middle parted hair, letting the blue-gray hood fall back.

_Is that bad? That it can never go back to what it was?_

My entire awareness is immediately clearer with my hood down.

Eerily loud thunder growls outside, and the rain sounds like it's falling in dangerously thick sheets. We're trying to cover the storm with the television like Esme is trying to cure her worry with a made from scratch dinner. It's not really working. It sort of helps a little, because she's not freaking out, but that's it.

Lightning cracks with thunder. Ron Burgundy cries out loud in a glass case of emotion. My phone vibrates in my back pocket and my heart holds its beats, but it's just my mom.

"As much as I want you home right now, I don't want you out in a car to get here," she tells me, her tone all love and care. "Are you okay?"

I nod. I fib. "Yeah, I'm fine. We're just watching movies."

"Safe and sound, Mrs Swan," Alice says from the love seat.

"I just wanted to be sure," Mom replies. "I love you, Bliss. I'll come get you tomorrow?"

I want to shake my head. I want to scream. "Ally can bring me home."

"Baby―

"Okay, Mom. Okay," I interrupt her and feel bad, but I don't want to fight. I don't want to argue. I just want Edward to come home. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Kay, I love you," she says, softer.

And in less than an instant I go from being frustrated with her, to wanting her here. I want her to hug me and tell me everything's okay. I want her to make everything okay.

"I love you too," is all I say, though, because she can't. No one can, except the one who's making everything the opposite of any kind of okay.

I repocket my phone and force a smile when I feel Garrett glance over. I bring my legs up and cross them under myself, keeping my eyes on the television. I can barely hear it over the wind and rain, but it's enough of a distraction. I try to dig my cold toes deeper between the sofa and my own legs for warmth.

Carlisle comes in from the kitchen and sits down. He eats a torn piece of tortilla he brought with him and smiles when I look. There's worry buried deep in his dark blues as he holds out the other half of the tortilla to me in offering, but I shake my head politely. The house smells like cilantro and carnitas, and I am hungry, but the thought of putting anything in my so-wound up stomach makes me feel ill.

I glance around the room. Alice is drawing on Jasper's shoe, but she's sort of spacing out. I can hear Esme keeping busy in the kitchen, and Carlisle is staying calm, but I think I can feel his uneasiness. Even Garrett's vibe feels unstable. I turn my focus back to the movie. I rest my chin in my hand and lean against the side of the couch, and try not to think about Edward, but it's impossible.

_Four days._

_Four._

_Days._

_Without a single sign of any kind that he's okay. That he's coming back. That he didn't just fucking leave―_

My spine freezes. Fear I've carried since the first night I snuck to his room wraps around both my lungs and makes breathing the most painful work, because he's finally done it. All my muscles are frozen, but I want to move. I want to go up to his room and see what if anything is missing, because _what other explanation could there be? He finally left,_ _and he left me here―_

For a second, there are no words for how deep the hurt in my heart cuts.

Then it beats.

And another possibility splits me.

Burying my hands into my sweater pockets, I brace myself as fiercely as I can inside. All my panic and frustration and questioning disintegrates, leaving just two acutely clear likelihoods behind. Neither one hurts less than the other. Both of the only two possibilities left at this point, pierce me soul-deep.

Edward's either left without me, or something is very, _very_ _wrong_.

A four letter word that starts and ends with a D circles my consciousness, but I refuse to think it. I'll lose everything if I think it.

Esme comes in, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Dinner's almost ready," she says, her half-smile full of desperate effort.

Carlisle smiles back at her and Alice gets up. She follows her mom into the kitchen and comes back with a piece of white cheese. The house phone rings, but it's just the neighbor from down the street, asking if we still have power.

I breathe out, slow and steady, struggling through the breath I know I have to take in, because I know it's going to burn.

"You okay?" Garrett whispers, his voice barely audible over the movie and the storm. We're not touching. His hands remain in his lap, but he's leaned his upper half a little closer.

I didn't even feel him move.

I nod. "Yeah," I lie, meeting his so-earnest auburn eyes. The genuine goodness there pits my anguish deeper. "I'm fine." I try to smile. I shrug. My shoulders fight. "I just don't like storms."

He doesn't say anything else.

Thunder growls so loudly I flinch. Alice turns the movie up.

I feel dizzy-dazed again, so scared and racked and restless inside I can barely think straight, let alone see clearly.

I'm terrified, and I'm shattering, and I hate him. I hate him for making me so afraid, for inflicting this torture on me.

_I want to fucking hate him. _

My eyes water. I look up at the ceiling and swallow, and silently beg God for mercy, strength, _please―_

I clench my fists in my thin pockets and concentrate on breathing, but this is bad.

_This is so bad._

_This is hurt I never, ever expected. Not ever. Not even for a second._

_He's supposed to take me with him. He's not supposed to leave me._

_How can he leave me?_

I swallow again, and my chest strains against the pressure. I hear Esme in the kitchen, the sound of glass on glass as she pulls plates from a cabinet. I hear her setting the table.

I press my lips together until they ache and dig my fingers into my palms until I'm positive I feel them break skin, and even then, nothing helps.

_He loves me. He's not supposed to make me feel this way. Love's not supposed to make you feel afraid, ever._

_Ever._

I blink, and I want his baseball hoodie. I want to be in his bed, safe and warm with him.

I blink, and I remember the first night he shut the light out and wrapped his arms around me. I remember the feel of his whisper and the way I was certain my heart was going to pound right out of my chest.

And inside, I crack all the way open.

Inside, I sob and scream and plead. I wail and curse and bargain with God. I swear in total secret silence that I'll do _anything, anything, anything, just please bring him back._

Glass breaking on black and white kitchen tiles lifts my lids. I didn't even realize they were still closed.

I completely missed the last few seconds, but Esme did not. I look over at Ally who's looking past me at her mom, who rushes around the corner as soon as I hear a key turn in the front door.

I go from frozen to completely enfeebled. I'm paralysis-pierced and I wonder if this is what going into shock feels like.

Before the door is even all the way open, Esme drops the towel from her hands and pulls her soaking wet son inside. She clutches onto him and buries her head in his chest, but I can hear her crying from here, over the storm behind him. Over the too-loud movie. Over my own thundering pulse.

Her words aren't even words. She weeps foreign cries that warn and threaten, and promise, and thank, and love.

Edward holds her, and when he looks up from the top of her head, over to all of us, there's no blue in his eyes.

Just ice-cold, marble-hard black.

Alice snorts, beyond pissed. In my peripheral vision, I see her stand up and walk out, and I know. _I know_ I should go with her.

Jasper does.

I feel Garrett shift his legs slightly, but he stays put with me.

My eyesight goes a little gray around the edges and I blink, remembering to breathe. My head spins. Struggling to get a handle on everything, I look at Edward again.

His eyes are on mine for a second, and there are a million things there that can't be spoken, but then he looks past me.

I turn my head to follow his gaze and find Carlisle staring right back at him, right into so-spun black, and I know without a doubt Edward's little white secret isn't a secret at all anymore.

Carlisle knows, and when he shakes his head and stands slowly from his chair, all the air in the room moves with him. He doesn't say a word, but I can feel the tension in my lungs when I breathe. I'm a whole different kind of nervous now, so much so that I can feel my veins shaking.

Edward watches his dad. He has to know how bad this is, how crazy everything is about to become, but he doesn't say anything either. He doesn't lower his stare, and he doesn't look anything even close to concerned.


	22. Night Time

**We do not own Twilight.**

**Sarah, I'm sitting at my computer almost refusing to write this. But then creativity and hard work takes over and I know we so deserve it.**

**Lovelybrutal is our beta and epic supporter. **

**Readers, epic supporters, the ones who only "skim," and the ones who read just to give us shit, thanks for being so tolerant with us. I hope this makes up for the wait. **

**Remember when they used to be nine and eleven? Well, they're not anymore. Progress. Image that! It's all _a day in the life_, friends. Simple. **

**The XX – Night Time: **_You mean that much to me and it's hard to show. Gets hectic inside of me when you go. Can I confess these things to you/ Well, I don't know. Embedded in my chest and it hurts to hold._

_I couldn't spill my heart. My eyes glean, looking in from the dark. I walk out in stormy weather. Hope my words can keep us together. Steady walking, but bound to trip. Should release, but just tighten my grip. _

**Chapter 21 – Sunny Side**

"Bliss, I think you need to go upstairs," Carlisle says. His hands are in his pockets, but even I can see they're fisted. He's standing full-length and high. And I've always known Carlisle to be strong and authoritative, but never like this.

Never like this because he is just as scared as the rest of us.

We handle it differently: Esme drinks, Alice gets angry, I teach myself how to breathe, and Carlisle stands superior.

"Okay," I whisper, setting my feet on the carpet. Garrett stands beside me, waiting for me to move. Lightning flashes outside, flickering the electricity.

"Ask the boys to take off," he adds as I get up.

"You should stick around, princess girl." Edward laughs from the door. Esme moves away from him, clearing her worries from beneath her eyes. Her shirt is soaking wet but her hair is perfectly set and her skirt is wrinkle free, and it's totally fucked up.

"You don't want to miss this, B," he says before flopping down in Garrett's spot. "Still warm. Thanks, motherfucker."

"Edward!" Esme snaps.

Carlisle smiles, but it's frightening.

I kind of, sort of watch Edward for a moment. It proves to be difficult, like I almost don't recognize him. He seems so … indifferent. His legs are parted and his arms are slack at his sides with the palms of his hands up. He leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes, hiding his black. But there's a sarcastic smirk on his lips, crooked and powerful.

When he opens them back up, he looks right at me. Not through me. Into me.

Garrett takes my hand and pulls me toward the stairs. Our fingers lace and I absently follow, unable to really control myself. The hood of my sweater falls back, showing my entire face. Thunder crashes outside and the windows rock. It's almost funny, because if I didn't know any better, I'd think Edward was the cause—of the lightening, of the thunder, of the rain.

When I reach the stairs, I take my hand from Garrett's. "Wait here," I say softly. Carlisle won't lay into Edward with company here, so I know it's okay to leave Garrett downstairs while I run up and get Jasper.

As I turn and step, Garrett reaches for my fingers and stops me. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asks.

I nod, keeping my eyes on this skater boy. I can see Edward behind him … his silhouette, but I don't look, because if I do, I'll fall apart. It took every ounce of self-control I have not to run to him when he came in through the front door. I wanted to cry like Esme did. I wanted to pull on his shirt and bury my face in his neck like his mom was able to.

I still want that.

But my time won't come until tonight, so for now I won't look anymore. I'll concentrate on my breathing and keep my head inside of my hoodie. I'll try to pretend like I'm the one who is indifferent. I'll act upset, but not really … I'll act like my best friend's brother doesn't make it hard not to spill my soul on the ground.

I'll act like he is just a troublesome boy. Any troublesome boy.

"I'm fine," I answer and smile.

I can feel Edward staring at me, and I want to scream, "Look the other way!" But I can't, and I don't. I swallow my pride and turn and run up the stairs. My bare feet beat into hardwood, and my face crumbles as I allow myself a second to feel the hurt he's causing me. I have to hold my hands over my mouth to keep from crying out loud, but sadness still runs from my eyes. My heart is beating slowly, painfully.

My other part is here, downstairs with dilated eyes and a stupid smile, but it's still not real. It won't be real until I can touch him.

For me, he's still halfway gone. Because we have to hide. Because I can't show how relieved I am. So I cry in secret, for only a secret-stolen-hidden instant; for only the few steps it takes to get to Alice's bedroom. When I'm in front of her closed doors, I get myself together. I pull my hood up and wipe my face clear of Edward-evoked tears. I stand firm, but not as solid as Carlisle, and knock on the door before I walk in.

Jasper's on one side of the room, and Alice is on the other. She's sitting in the middle of her bed with her cell phone in her hands. Jasper's leaned against the furthermost wall, watching his not-really-girlfriend type away.

"If he knew where he was, Bliss—" She falls short.

It's hard for me to step into her room. It's hard for me to be in this house. The only place I want to be is in his bed. On him. With him. Between or under him. I'm in desperate fucking need of his attention. I need his strength over me, in me, beside me. I require his assurance and confirmation. I'm dying for the comfort only he can supply me with. I just want him near me.

Alice's phone sounds and she answers it before the second ring. She stands up on her bed and jumps down, and as she passes me, she says into her mobile, "He just came though the door, Peter."

Al goes into the bathroom and closes the door.

"Jasper," I say carefully. "Carlisle says you guys have to go."

Jasper's hands are in his pockets, too, only his aren't fisted, and he isn't standing tall; he's standing defeated. I want to ask him whose idea it was to get involved in this together-but-not-really-together relationship. I kind of, sort of want to remind him we're not in junior high school anymore. And I want to tell him that chasing his girl around isn't going to work this time.

_But who the fuck am I to give anyone advice like that?_

Jasper tries to smile, but it doesn't reach. "Tell her to call me," he says.

"Okay," I answer.

I watch him go downstairs where Garrett's waiting. I sit on the top step and wave, and my heart flip-beats as they walk out the door. It's like a countdown, because the second those boys are out the door, it's on. This house will become a war zone, and I'm just a casualty.

It's like the entire house has gone silent with the exception of Jasper and Garrett's footsteps. The storm has calmed, my heart has stopped … nothing moves. I bring my knees up to my chest and hold my breath.

"Bye, Mr. and Mrs. Cullen," Garrett mumbles as he opens the front door.

Sticky, humid air comes in, along with the scent of raindrops and wet trees and dirt. It makes it harder to breathe. Under my sweater, the humidity causes me to sweat, but I don't dare take it off. I need its protection and shelter.

"Goodbye, boys," Esme says. She sounds hollow and her farewell is without feeling. I can't see her, but hearing her tone is enough.

Right as the front door closes with Jas and Garrett on the other side, Alice emerges from the bathroom. She's put her hair up and her face is red and swollen like she's been crying. She sits beside me on the stairs but doesn't ask about Jasper.

"Petey swears he hasn't seen Edward in two days. He didn't know where he was," she says.

I've never once, in our entire friendship, considered the idea that Alice keeps secrets from me, even though I keep them from her. I keep the most ultimate secret. An entire half of my life is concealed from her, and I deal with the guilt, but now I'm wondering if she's doing the same thing. Five minutes in the restroom on the phone with Petey and she comes out having bared her soul.

Alice does not cry.

Not often.

Not in front of the boys.

And despite the hypocrisy, the thought of her keeping me out damages me almost as much as Edward's absence does.

Almost.

"So where was he?" I ask. I do my best to keep my voice even and neutral.

Alice wipes her cry-crimsoned eyes with the sleeve of her black Volcom sweater. She shrugs, packing up the vulnerability she showed my boy's best friend behind closed doors. And I want to ask her whose idea it was to get into this together—but not really—together relationship with Jasper again, like I wanted to question him.

There are only a couple of things that keep Alice and I from being completely equal. But those couple of things are enough to put a silent distance between us. She's had sex and I haven't; I keep this secret, so I'm always cautious; but this causes the largest jam of all: Alice might be keeping secrets of her own.

As much as my heart breaks because of that knowledge, the pull on my heart from the troublemaker downstairs trumps.

Because I've already chosen him, after all.

Love is picking and choosing.

That's always been the deal.

Our friendship is counting down too, isn't it? Alice and I have an expiration date. My relationship with everyone besides Edward does, and I cannot believe I've never thought about it this way before now.

It makes me so much more angry, because he'll get to keep them all: Alice, Carlisle, Esme, Ben and Pete. She'll always be his sister, and they'll always be his parents and best friends, but I'll be the liar and the backstabber. The secret keeper. I'm putting my entire life on the line for him, and he picks this way to return the favor—leaving me here without a call.

_Why do I put so much effort in when he doesn't return it at all? _

"Are you crying?" Alice asks.

I shake my head and smile. "No. I just yawned."

Then the yelling starts.

And the crashing. And the fighting. And the breaking.

Alice and I can't see much, but we can see that Carlisle has Edward on his feet and against the front door by his shirt. I hide my face in my hands, and Alice holds onto my arm. The side table next to the couch falls over and Esme's lamp breaks. Carlisle's foot is tangled in the white cord, but he doesn't miss a beat. Edward steps on broken glass as he struggles for his footing, and Esme picks up the table while she screams for them to stop.

"The girls, Carlisle!" she pleads.

White-hot adrenaline pumps through my veins. My eyes water and my bones shake. Alice is holding on too tightly. I want to tell her to let go so I can get up and pace. A natural part of me wants to go down there and defend him, but I can't. I can't do anything but sit here and listen and kind of, sort of watch, and wish this was not happening.

Despite Esme's pleas, Carlisle does not loosen his grip on his son. "Do you have any fucking idea—" His voice breaks, but his authority is ironlike.

He finally shoves Edward away, releasing his shirt.

"Where were you?" Esme asks. She sounds small in a house full of hostility.

"Gone. I don't know," Edward answers. He isn't as cocky as he was before. "I lost track of time."

"Not good enough!" Esme yells. "I thought you were—"

Edward scoffs. "What? Dead? Don't be so fucking dramatic, Ma."

"We're supposed to trust you?" Carlisle asks. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid? Have you forgotten what I am? What I do? Where I come from, you little motherfucker..."

Carlisle is in Edward's face again. His anger returns to it's boiling point. I drop my forehead to my knees and listen.

"You're dirty. I can practically smell it on you!" he roars. "I've dealt with the weed and the cigarettes, but coke? Are you fucking stupid?"

"It's not a big deal, Dad," Edward replies. He sounds bored and tired and uninterested. "My phone died and I lost track of time, I swear."

"I don't give a fuck, because you're grounded." Carlisle sounds blank, unsure of his own conclusion, like he doesn't know what else to do. He defends for a living; he does not prosecute—Carlisle doesn't know what to do after using his deep voice and showing his muscle.

But he's grounded?

Kids are grounded for staying out past curfew or failing a class. You do not ground a kid when they come home high on cocaine; you give them a fucking intervention.

But the Cullens have never gotten this part right.

"You can't ground me, Dad. I'm almost eighteen." Edward laughs.

"You're seventeen for the next four weeks. No car, no phone, nothing." My boy's dad is firm, but it's empty. Not even I believe him. Alice rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"Fine." Edward gives in. He drops his cell phone, his keys, and his wallet onto the table and walks away.

He catches Alice and I sitting at the top of the stairs. This time I look at him, still hidden under dark-gray cotton. His clothes aren't his own and his eyes are still disturbingly dark, and even though I saw them when he first came in, they're still alarming. He's wet from the rain and his hair is pressed against his forehead, soaked.

"What the fuck are you guys doing?" he asks lowly, taking the first step. Alice get up and goes into her room, slamming the door. I stay.

He smiles, and I don't know if he expected me to welcome him home with open arms, but it's not fucking happening. So I get up and follow Alice, only I don't slam the door.

He's doesn't get my anger.

He deserves nothing but my silence.

.

.

.

Alice is in front of her stereo, flipping through her iPod, but her mind isn't on the music. Her thumb is scroll, scroll, scrolling, but her middle finger on her other hand is in her mouth; she's biting away her chipped nail polish, taking skin with it. She bleeds.

"Fuck," she curses.

I go to her, circling my arms around her stomach from behind. I lay my forehead on her shoulder blade and say, "I'm sorry he did this."

Alice leans her weight into me and sighs. "It's more than him, you know."

I nod.

"Jasper left? When?" She chooses a song and whispers the words, _"__Madness fills my heart and soul as if the great divide could swallow me whole..."_

I take a breath to answer, wondering what I really want to say or ask, but a loud, glass breaking crash from the bedroom next door leaves me empty-worded and anxious.

"What the fuck was that?" Alice asks, absentmindedly. She steps past me, then stops, still biting her nails.

Questions about Jasper are forgotten as Carlisle and Esme run up the stairs in a loud hurry. Their footsteps echo through the walls and vibrate through the floor. Alice runs to her bedroom door and opens it just as Carlisle breaks down Edward's, splintering wood and fracturing the frame.

The crash of the breaking door is nothing compared to the destruction Edward is causing in our space. Esme is screaming and crying for him to stop, but then I hear a mirror break. And my boy is yelling, but I can't understand a word he is saying over the noise of his destruction.

I stay in Alice's room, by the stereo, flinching every time something hits the wall from the other side. I press the palms of my hands into my eyes, letting the sweater soak up unallowed tears. My skin prickles and my jaw hurts. My head feels light and my heart is beating too hard. I want to run out of this place, out into the rain and sticky air. I feel trapped, and I can feel myself beginning to panic.

"Bliss, come here," Alice whispers, pulling me away from myself.

I go to her and she takes my hand. We stand halfway in and halfway out of her room. We don't move or speak or question, we just watch and listen. For a brief moment, I wonder what my parents are doing at home, and I wonder if they miss me. I wonder what they would do if they knew this was happening here.

I chase away those thoughts just as Carlisle yells, "Edward, no!"

Through the broken door, Edward's computer chair comes flying out into the hallway. It hits the wall and shatters, destroying the chair and the drywall. Alice and I both duck, hugging each other to avoid being hit by flying plastic and ruined wall.

There is a brief silence after that, like we've all been too stunned. But the chaos returns when Edward Edward starts crying and cussing and asking, "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

It's more than I can handle, and I just give in and cry.

.

.

.

Sometime later everything calms and the yelling and warring stop. I sit under the door jamb with Alice, while Carlisle and Esme sit in bed with Dusty in his room. The house is quiet-still, destroyed, but cleansed. It's like they needed that in some sick, unethical way. I feel like all of the pieces are back together because my boy is home and we're all here. But the entire time he was throwing stuff, and yelling and breaking, I thought, _this is it. This is when everyone finds out._

I stood in the hall while Edward unhinged, but I only saw him once, and there is no doubt in my mind all of this was because of me.

Love is psychotic.

"Are you happy?" he yelled, tear-soaked and disordered. "Is this what you fucking wanted?"

No one caught on, and Carlisle blamed it on the drugs."Don't listen to him, princess," he said, trying to push his son back into his room.

Alice's head is in my lap and my feet are on the door frame. My hood is still up, covering my cry-puffy face.

"You don't have to stick around for this, you know," Alice reminds me again.

"It's okay," I tell her. And it is. I feel better now that he's calm and I've cried.

I run my fingers through her long, blonde-dirty hair. It's wet between my thigh and her cheek from her tears. She cries slowly and quietly and steadily, but I like that's she's crying with me instead of without me like she did earlier.

She turns her head, and I watch sadness fall down her temple, into her hair. "We're fucking crazy, right?"

I smile and shake my head.

She eventually sits up and rubs her face dry with her hands. Alice chuckles and turns to me. "I need an Ambien. Want one?"

"No," I say, pushing her arm.

"Well, I do."

I stay under the door jamb and watch her walk down to her parents' bedroom. Carlisle and Esme come out of Edward's room right after, sharing the same look of concern and torment. But when Carlisle sees me, he smiles. He even bends down in front of me, making me feel like I want to cry again.

"Are you okay, sweet girl?" he asks.

"Yes," I answer, unsteadily.

"I'm sorry this happened while you were here." Carlisle's hair is uncharacteristically moved out of place. It's normally gelled and brushed over perfectly, but right now it's loose and in his eyes. His shirt is unbuttoned and the neck of his white undershirt is stretched out. In his hands are Esme's heels.

"It's okay," I say, sinking back into my sweater.

"My son makes some shitty decisions sometimes, but …" he stops short, pushing my chin up so I have to look him straight in the face. I feel better once I do. Carlisle can be intimating, but he is also tender. It might be his eyes; they're so comforting. "We'd like to keep this a private matter, Bliss."

I nod. "I would never tell anyone."

He laughs. "I know you wouldn't." Carlisle leans forward and kisses my forehead. "You girls should get some sleep." He stands. "Where's Alice?"

"Getting an Ambien," I say.

Esme groans, and they take off down the hall. With the three of them in a room, I'm alone. I get up and tiptoe over Edward's thrown clothes and broken chair. His room doesn't have a functioning door anymore, so I walk right in.

The room is a disaster. All of his dresser drawers are scattered across the floor. His computer monitor is knocked over and his curtains have been ripped down. The moon, peeking out from between the storm clouds, shines a dull-white light through the window. The bathroom door is intact, but the mirror is splintered. The shower curtain is hanging by only a couple of hooks, and all of his toiletries are on the floor.

It's completely soundless in here, with the exception of Edward's quiet breathing. I stand with my back toward him, having avoided the bed on purpose. I breathe easy for the first time in four nights. It always smells like him in here, whether he's around or not, but it's so much better when he is. The scent of vanilla, rain, love, heartache, and trouble fills my lungs and absorbs in my skin. With closed eyes, I turn around. My feet push around clothes, and when I take a step forward, I step on glass.

It's our prom picture, still in its frame, unbroken. But I step over it, remaining in the here-and-now, and move closer to the bed. I keep my eyes down—I'm not ready to see him yet. Feeling him here is enough. It's the right amount of relief and ease. My body just feels better in his presence, and I'm afraid that when I do look, my heart will break all over again, because then it will be real. He'll be broken and I'll be weakened, and I'll have to see it.

It only takes a few steps to close the distance between us. I can't hear anything out in the hallway, but how would I explain myself if I'm caught in his room, anyway?

Maybe I'll tell them the truth. Maybe I'll say, "We're so fucking in love and he left me and now I can't even look at him because I'm so fucking scared he'll do it again."

That's the only explanation I'll have.

"Bella?" Alice calls.

Out of time, I look up … at him. He's on his stomach, shirtless, shoeless. His eyes are closed and his back rises and falls at a sleepy rate. His face is half-hidden by his arm. All of the blankets and pillows are scattered everywhere. His mattress is bare.

Edward's hair is pushed away from his face, no doubt by Esme. She must have run her fingers through it until her son fell asleep.

Like this, eyes closed, quiet and peaceful, he looks so guiltless. He looks his age. And I almost forgive him.

Until his eyes open and he looks at me.

Then I just walk out and don't look back.

.

.

.

I flop on Alice's bed.

"Where were you, baby Bliss?" she asks, in a much lighter mood. Alice takes off her top, unhooks her bra and looks at me over her shoulder. She has the cutest freckles on her back, and a light tan line from the beach today.

"Bathroom," I lie.

She hooks her thumbs into her shorts and pushed them down her legs, step-kicking them to the other side of the room. At her dresser, she searches through her pajama drawer. I pick at the ends of my blondie hair sticking out from my hoodie-hood.

She chooses a wife beater and pink cotton shorts, then she turns and jumps in bed beside me. I can see her nipples through her top, but it doesn't bother me. As we get older, Alice becomes more and more comfortable with her body. She's gotten to the point where she doesn't even wear a bra most of the time. I'm not as brave as her, but seeing her naked isn't something that shocks me anymore. It just is.

"Look," she says, opening her palm. It's a small white pill. "Mom tried to tell me I couldn't take it. She said I'm not old enough for sleeping pills." She snorts. "While my brother is coke-high and crazy."

Alice drops it on the tip of her tongue and smiles as she swallows.

"Jasper and I fucked at the beach today," she says, flipping onto her back. "I missed him."

I fall deeper in the bed with her, slipping out of my shorts. I cuddle in, hoodie warm and best friend safe. My entire heart and most of my thoughts are in bed with my boy, but I finally feel self-contained and whole. And I didn't like the feeling I had with Alice earlier. I don't like being detached from her. That's our future, not our right now.

"Tell me what it felt like," I tease. I roll onto my side and snuggle my face into her neck. "Tell me what he sounded like … and tasted like. Tell me."

"It was like the sweetest, most hard Christmas explosion ever..."

She's asleep in no time at all.

After I slip out of bed, I cover up my girl. Sleepyhead is deceased to the world and snoring. Her room is still lit and turned on. The stereo is playing the same City and Colour album over and over, and her ceiling fan is circle, circle, spinning. The scarves hanging from the blades coat the walls in pinks and greens, and oranges and purples. The rope lights Jasper bought her years ago sparkle and shine, even though a few of the bulbs have burned out.

I turn the radio off first, then the rope lights. I keep the fan on, though. The storm isn't storming any longer, but the summer rain left humidity behind. Esme turned the air conditioner on, but the fan makes it that much more comfortable.

When the room is sleep ready, and I've stripped myself of my sweater and bra, I sneak away. The Beastie Boys tee I have on only reaches mid-thigh, so I hold down the hem. I keep my eyes on my feet as I saunter down the hall. The dark-purple nail polish on my toes shines in the flat light coming from the vintage Sleepy Mouse nightlight Alice bought a couple of weeks ago.

"I couldn't see shit!" She laughed while she explained. "I had to go pee and kicked my toe on the fucking wall. I thought I broke the little fucker."

I've been secret-stepping down this hall for a few years now, never once have I thought it was too dark to see. But as I step over broken plastic and clothes, I'm grateful my best friend is such a sissy girl.

When I reach his room, I don't hesitate like I did the first time; my eyes are on him right away. I lean my right knee against his mattress, then my left hand, then my right knee, and my left hand. I push Edward on his side and slip in next him. I hide my face in his chest and inhale. I kiss his skin and hold onto his sides. I tangle my legs in his and push myself impossibly closer.

"You're always supposed to tell me where you are, remember?" I whisper. "What's the point of these stupid rules if we never follow them?"

His hand clutches onto my upper arm; he holds me like I might not really be here. Then his lips are full and warm and needy on my forehead. Then his lips are hard and desperate and demanding on my cheek.

"Fuck, Bliss. Oh, fuck," he repeats again and again.

Edward pushes me onto my back. He hovers above me; his eyes are ill-defined and his skin his hot. His hair is a tragedy and his hands are forceful. He holds my wrists into the mattress and looks over my body from between my knees. He releases my left wrist and uses his free hand to push down on my hip, and grip under my knee, and touch my face.

I kiss the inside of his palm.

Love is so fucking tolerant it makes me sick.

"I hate you," I say softly. "I hate you for this," I hit him in the chest. He only looks at me, like he isn't all the way here. Like some of him is still where he was.

The third time I hit him, Edward catches my fist and kisses my knuckles. He kisses the inside of my wrist, and the inside of my elbow. "Please," he whispers. "Please,"

The tip of his nose glides up the side of my throat. If it were a razor, it would cut me. I'd welcome the sweet satisfaction of death. That's what it felt like when he was away. A part of me died when he was gone, some soft, righteous, oblivious part passed away in his absence. Even with him here, above me, around me, like I wanted, that soft, righteous, oblivious part is not coming back. It's gone. And I am toughened once again.

"Please what?" I snap, trying to keep quiet. "Please what, Edward? Please take you back? Please forget you left me? What?"

He places his hand gently over my mouth . "Please tell me you love me."

I scoff and roll my eyes, pushing his hand away. "Like I could ever not love you."

Edward drops down, placing all of his weight on my body. His head in on my chest, with his ear over my heart. I'm mad. I'm so pissed and hurt, but he needs me. So I run my fingers though his hair like his mom must have. He feels clammy. His scalp is hot and his hair is damp by his roots. Edward doesn't sleep restful; his eyes move behind closed eyelids. His body is tense. He shifts a lot. And through the night, Edward wakes up a few times, but the lost expression on his face never really leaves.

I'm too hot beneath him, but I don't do anything to push him away. I like the tingly, no-feeling feel I have in my been-asleep legs. His weight makes it hard to take a full breath, but I've spent the last four days teaching myself how to breathe under pressure, so I do it again. I run my fingers through his hair until my wrist cramps, then I switch hands. I even sleep … until he wakes up and tells me he's going to be sick.

Edward stumbles to the bathroom, and I follow. He looks around, but doesn't talk. He doesn't get sick either; he just sits on the closed toilet seat with his face in his hands.

"Are you okay?" I ask, softly.

He looks up and I recognize more of my boy than I did before. "I feel like shit."

I cross my arms and lean against the door frame. "What can I do?"

He shakes his head, like he doesn't know.

So I go to him and drop to my knees, taking his hands away from his face. I kiss the corner of his mouth and hold my palms on the sides of his neck. I press my forehead against his and just breathe.

I breathe.

And so does he.

"You can take a bath," I offer.

"Okay," he answers.

I get up and close the bathroom door. I lock it, but I don't turn the light on, as if the darkness gives us some kind of protection—from the rest of the house, from each other, from what he did.

I sit on the edge of the tub while the water runs. Edward doesn't move; he just watches. When the bathtub is full, I tell him to stand up. I unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He looks down on me, but he doesn't touch; he lets me do this.

I pull his jeans and boxers down together, ignoring the hang of his length. He walks out of his pants and steps into the water. Edward sinks until only his neck and head are above the surface.

Water spills over the side because I overfilled the tub. I sit beside it, on the floor, anyway, unconcerned when my underwear and shirt get wet. My knees slip against the tile, but I hardly notice. I let my fingers dance in his bath water, and we're still not talking. Edward's eyes are closed again. His knees come up, pouring more water into my lap.

We stay this way until the water gets cold.

When we go back to bed, I watch him. I've changed into one of his white shirts and a pair of his boxers. He sleeps with a towel tied around his waist, on his side. I sit beside him with my knees pressed against my chest and my ear on my knee. Edward's hand is on my foot, keeping me near, always.

I should leave, but I can't bring myself to move away. This homecoming was nothing like I anticipated. I thought all the yelling and conflict would be between us, not with his parents. I never imagined the house being turned upside down. I didn't know he was going to come back to me in this condition. I thought it would be easier: I would cry and scream, and he would apologize, and it would never happen again.

That part of me that died, she thought it would happen like that. She lived with her head in the clouds, in a world where love can conquer all. Where love is still made out of peanut butter and jelly and fireflies and sparkles. Where love does not pull wings off of butterflies.

_Fucking idiot. _

I extend my legs out in front of me. His hand slides up my shin to my knee. "I have to go," I say.

"Okay," he answers.

I get up and leave. He doesn't ask me to come back.

Edward's up for breakfast a couple of hours later, sitting across from me pretending to eat. He's not. He's picking up his spoon and spilling his Cheerios back into the bowl while I do the same with my Lucky Charms.

The house is already busy. Carlisle and Esme went to the hardware store to buy a new door and bathroom mirror for my boy's room. Alice is still running around with her cell phone glued to her ear. She woke up feeling guilty about the way she treated Jasper once her brother showed up last night. I told her he'll understand, but I don't think he will. Especially because she was snubbing him for Pete.

I only slept for an hour or so after I left Edward, but I don't feel tired. Madness is fueling my energy and I'm wide awake.

Before breakfast, I was sitting on the couch staring at Dora the Explorer on the big screen after I got up this morning. Sometimes I like to watch Dora because it helps me with Spanish, but today it was on for noise. Esme was in the kitchen making coffee, Carlisle was sitting on the love seat with a newspaper spread out in front of him, and Alice was somewhere begging Jasper to forgive her … again.

While I sat on the couch, yesterday's events kept circling through my thoughts: unanswered phone calls, Esme's face when she asked if Alice and I knew where Edward was, Garrett, watching the storm, holding his hand … when my boy walked though the front door like nothing was wrong.

It was a typical morning, but we were all pretending we didn't feel the white elephant in the room. When Edward came down during the Backpack song, the entire house went still. We all snapped out of it just as fast as we went in, though.

Edward, out of his towel and in a pair of cut off sweats, mumbled a good morning before sitting next to me on the couch. He crooked smiled and turned the TV up. Everyone else acted like nothing had ever even happened. His things were on the table where he dropped them last night, and when Edward reached forward for his phone, Carlisle didn't say a word.

"My phone's dead." He held it up to show me, but I didn't look. If would have looked at him then, I would have caved. Shower-clean-shirtless and sleep soft, he was my favorite kind of Dusty. "How was I supposed to call if my phone was dead?" he asked. He made it sound unspecific, but it was all for me.

Carlisle gave Edward disapproving look, but it was ignored. Edward took the rest of his stuff and went back to his room.

Now we're sitting at the same table, and I'm trying so hard not to look at him. But he's looking, and his look pierces.

"Are you just going to ignore me?" he asks. His cocky mood from earlier is gone. His tone is rough, like it may be hurting him to even speak.

I take a chance and glance. He looks pale and sick, like every movement causes pain. Like he's only sitting at this stupid table because I'm here. His hair is went-to-bed-wet messy and he has a brand new white-tee on. He's covered his feet with some socks, and every once in a while he'll touch my foot with his.

I shrug and take another bite of my Lucky Charms, moving my foot away.

"I said I was sorry," he says.

I snort. "Actually, you didn't."

Edward sits up, leaning over the table so he's that much closer to me. "I didn't do anything, Bliss. I—" Alice walks in, cutting him short.

She sits beside me, smiling. "I love him," she says. "He said he gets it. I think we're going to meet up tonight. Can you come?"

Edward laughs as I shake my head. "I have to go home."

My deserter gets up, leaving his soggy cereal behind, and walks away.

Alice watches him, but she doesn't give it a second thought. "So, do you want to talk about you and Garrett?" She reaches into my bowl and steals a rainbow.

I can't help it, I smile. "Not really."

"Ugh, you suck." She takes a pot of gold.

.

.

.

When Carlisle and Esme come home with the mirror and door, they let me know my mom is outside waiting for me.

"Why are you leaving me?" Alice dramatically faux-cries. I let her tackle me onto the couch. "This is your home, you know."

I circle my arms around her waist and hug her tight. "You can come with me, too." I wrap my legs around hers. Esme laughs as she walks by.

"No way. I love you, Bliss, but today I love Jasper's dong a little more."

"Alice!" Esme scolds.

It's weird sitting next to my mom on the drive home. She's so unaware. I mean, how many lies have I told her this week? This year? Since we've moved here? I always tell myself I'm lying to her because if she knew the truth, such and such will happen to _me_. But when she finds out, because she will, what will it do to _her_? How will she look at me then? Because right now she's smiling at me like I'm the light of her fucking life. Like I could never do anything wrong.

And out of all the lies I've told her, this newest secret seems to be the worst of all: Edward does drugs. He really does them. His family knows and they're not doing anything about it.

"How was staying over at the Cullens'?" Mom asks, trying to make conversation.

"It was good." Lie.

"Did anything exciting happen?"

"No." Lie. "We just watched movies." Lie.

"For four days?" Mom laughs.

"Yep." Lie.

"Was that a door Carlisle was carrying into the house?" she asks, turning onto our street.

"Yeah." Not a lie. "He was moving some new furniture into his office and busted a hole in the old door." Lie.

Mom nods. She believes me. Because I would never lie to her.

Lie.

The house is sunshine bright and happy when I walk in. All of the windows are open so the outside air comes inside in soft breezes. Dad is sitting on the couch watching TV. He's still in his pajamas, and that little bit makes me smile.

"Have a good time, Bliss?" he asks.

"Yeah, Dad." Lie.

"You look tired, kid. Did you get enough sleep?"

"I slept all night." Lie.

But I didn't, and now that I'm not around Edward, I'm starting to feel the aftereffects of it. My eyes are heavy and hazy and I'm so detached.

At the Cullens' house, everything is comfortable because everything is oversized: the couch, the TV, the kitchen table, their beds. At my house everything is comfortable because everything is lived in. Our couch is considerably smaller than Esme's, and I love the way you just sink into her deep couch cushions; the microfiber literally hugs you like a dream, but mom's couch is more familiar and home-like. The moment I sit on it I smile. With Mom sitting at one end, there isn't enough room for me to stretch out like there is on the Cullens' couch, so I settle for lying my head in my mom's lap. She runs her fingers though my hair like I did Alice's and Edward's, and with the sunlight warming my skin, my mom's touch and my dad's laughter in the air, I fall asleep thinking, _it feels so right being taken care of. _

_._

_._

_._

"Maybe we shouldn't let you sleep over there so much, Bella," Mom says, chopping onions.

I roll my eyes, but not so she can see. "Mom, I'm a teenager; I like to sleep."

Dad leans against the counter where mom is making dinner. "You slept for six hours."

"I was tired." Not a lie.

It's dark out, and I knew the second I woke up and heard my parents whispering about me in the kitchen I was going to get drilled. They are so cut and dry, so black and white, so predictable. I can't even take a nap without them questioning why. There always has to be a reason children do what they do.

Too bad they're right.

"You know I like you in bed at a certain time, Isabella." Mom drops the onions into the pan of olive oil. The sizzle and smell burns my nose and eyes.

"It's summertime, Mom," I answer weakly, picking at the end of my shorts.

She scoffs. "I don't care. You won't be one of those girls who stay up all night and sleep all day. I don't know what kind of home Esme runs, but—"

"Renee," Dad warns.

This time Mom rolls her eyes. "Maybe we just need to keep you home more this summer."

"I took a nap!" I yell. I cover my mouth with my hands the moment I do it. Mom drops the spatula and Dad kind of smiles. "I'm sorry," I apologize right away. "I didn't mean to yell." My hands start to shake, and I don't want to cry. If I do, my tears will not be for my mom. They'll be for Edward. They'll be for what he did to me. For what we haven't had a chance to talk about yet.

I'm usually so much better at handling pressure from my mom, but my heart and will are all over the place. I can't concentrate, because I can only think about the unease in Edward's eyes and how he looked in the bathtub. Everyone else got a chance to vent last night; everyone but me.

"Renee, until Bella gives us a reason not to trust her, you have no reason not to."

After to dinner I excuse myself and run up to my room. My cell phone is blinking. I have multiple missed calls: a few from Alice, two from Leah and Lauren. One from Garrett. Six from Dusty.

Next to my bed is my copy of our prom picture. I sit on my bed and pick it up. I study the photograph; I look at Edward's eyes, his nose, his smile. He was lit; I remember. They smoked while we drove around before the dance, and he was so faded. And despite the red in his eyes, they are perfectly clear compared to what they were last night. He's used coke before. I know he has. He's told me, and I've been with him while he's been on it … but this is different. His eyes were wholly black and so fucking deep. His attitude was different. The way he carried himself was off.

Edward has never cared about how anyone else feels, but last night was so … supreme.

He really didn't think twice about how his actions had affected the rest of us. He didn't care until he wanted to, and even then he only cared about me. He threw that fit last night because I walked away from him in the hallway.

And like me, Edward has always been good about handling pressure. He almost gave us up last night. It was like he couldn't control himself.

While I'm looking at the picture of us happy and together, my phone rings. I answer it without looking at who it is, because I already know. I always know when it's him. My heart beats funny and the palms of my hands sweat. My chest swells and I smile. It's just like my body knows. It just knows.

"Where were you, Edward?" I ask, setting the picture back on my nightstand. I lean back on my bed with my back against my pillows.

"In Seattle with Dimitri. We met up at his friend's house."

"Why did you go?"

"I was mad. I heard you and my sister talking about leaving … and you won't be my fucking girl—" He stops when it sounds like he has so much more to say.

"What is it?" I ask softly.

"It's not as easy to kick as I thought it would be." He takes a breath. "I just wanted to do it one more time, but now I'm talking myself into not using again. It's worse than before."

"I didn't know where you were."

"Baby, I didn't know where the fuck_ I_ was half of the time. But I swear, Bliss, it won't happen again. I won't leave you like that."

I want to ask him to promise me. But I don't. Because even I know he'd break it.

"Can I come over?" he asks. "Please, baby, please."

.

.

.

I don't bother tiptoeing down the stairs, and I don't care about the noise the lock makes as I unlock the front door. The hinges squeak and the knob accidentally hits the wall; my heart skips a few beats. I listen for my parents, but their TV is louder than I am. I closed their door before I came down, so we should be safe.

Warm and muggy, midnight-summertime air fills the living room. The stupid dog next door is barking again, wary of the tall, beautiful boy walking up my driveway in black shorts and a white shirt. His head is down and his hands are in his pockets. He's walking slowly, carefully. Edward's car is somewhere down the street so no one sees it.

I step onto the front porch and my bare feet cause the old wood to creak; humidity prickles my skin, leaving me sticky-sweet. I wait at the top step for him, pushing my hair off of my neck. Every house on the block is sleep-dark and quiet.

When Edward is finally in front of me, he waits for me to say something first. I let go of my hair and rub my hands over my face. He takes a step up so we're the same height.

I look at him between my fingers and smile.

He wraps his arms around my back and pulls me to him. I inhale vanilla-troublesome until my eyes water, because that's all there is. No pot, no booze … just Tide, Dove, and vanilla. It's all him.

Edward lifts my chin up and kisses my lips. "I'm sorry," he says. I have no doubt he means it.

A part of me is already dead and gone, but I could never not be with Edward. Ever.

I would completely non exist any other way.

I lead the way to my room. Our left hands hold while we take one careful step at a time. I look back and watch Edward. He smiles at me, but his look is still shifty and his hand has a slight tremble in mine. When we pass my parents' room, I hold a finger to my lips, saying, "Shh."

He winks.

When we finally reach my bedroom, Edward goes straight into bed. I close the door, turning the handle. I don't release it until it's all the way shut, and as quietly as I can manage, I turn the lock.

My space is dimly lit by a small lamp beside my bed, illuminating the room in a glowing yellow light. Edward, who is on his stomach, toes off his shoes and pulls off his shirt. It gets stuck on his shoulders, so I help out. His skin is warm, and I can feel his heart beat through his back. I press the palm of my hand between his shoulder blades where I can feel his swift thump the best.

"Are you okay?" I ask lowly.

He shakes his head.

I curl up beside him, pressing my cheek to his soft, warm skin. I reach around until I find one of his shaking hands and hold it as tightly as I can. After a few minutes, Edward turns around. His tired eyes are glossy, but they're coming back to blue. He still looks pale, though, and his hands are still unrestful.

"Take this off," he says, pulling at the end of my sleep shirt.

I sit up, pull it away and toss it on the carpet, leaving myself bare-topped and in cotton shorts. My boy pulls me beside him. He scoots down a little before laying his head over my chest and wrapping his arms around my back. My body lights up the second our skin touches. We both sigh and sink into being together and at ease.

"Stay like this all night. It's a rule."

Edward leaves a little after four in the morning with promises to come back after my parents are asleep again. We go out the back door this time. Sluggish and still trembling, he says he's feeling better. "You always make shit better for me, B," he whispers into my ear. I hold him close, uncertain if I believe him or not.

The early morning air is crisp and clean, and the rising sun has turned the sky blue-orange-purple. Our neighbor's sprinklers are on, giving the air the most invigorating scent. We're quiet as we walk to the side of the house, hand in hand like we've been all night. My thoughts are mostly quiet, with the exception of the worry I have for Edward.

When we reach the side gate, I don't want to let him go. Edward hugs me snuggle-tight, lifting my feet from the cement.

"Don't leave me," I say quietly, looking over his shoulder at nothing.

"I'll be back," he says. His tone has yet to return to its normal tune.

In an effort to make him be closer, I wrap my legs around his waist and grip on hard. My chest presses against him, and my lips press to the soft spot below his ear.

"You're making this so much harder," he says, letting me down.

When he leaves, I cry.

I can't fucking help it.

.

.

.

_I'm here. _

Texting with one hand and brushing my teeth with my other, I type: _on my way. _

I shut off the bathroom light, quietly open the door, and tiptoe-run down the stairs. After unlocking the padlock, I listen for my parents, and when I don't hear anything, I turn the knob and open the door.

Back like he said he would be this morning, my boy stands in front of me, tall, strong and smirking … like he was never sick at all. Like his trembling hands and too-hard heart beat were all a figment of my imagination. Like he never came home dope sick and helpless.

All of the blue that was coming back to his eyes is gone. His posture is straight and steady. The color in his face is normal, and when he says, _"Are you going to let me in or what?"_ it's completely typical—arrogant, challenging, and smug.

There is something calming about it, though. It's familiar. It's what I know best.

It's our deal.


	23. Same Mistakes

**We do not own Twilight. **

**Huge shout out to Bradley for finding Ramona on the east side. I would like to thank Robyn for dancing on her own. Tupac and Snoop for having a gangsta party, and most of all, The Beastie Boys for fighting for our right to party. **

**This chapter is written in the memory of Adam "MCA" Yauch—without you, some of this would never have been. Music will most definitely never be the same.**

**Beta girl, Lovelybrutal; the best wordcutter around. **

**The Echo-Friendly – Same Mistakes:** _I make the same mistakes, feels like I'll never learn. Always give way too much, for little in return. I haven't changed a bit, I'm still not over it. _

_I make the same mistakes. I make the same mistakes. _

_I never did grow up, feels like I never will. My friends are all adults, I'm still a teenage girl. _

**Chapter 22- Isabella Bliss**

"Are you nervous?" I ask.

Alice's eyes meet mine in the bathroom mirror, blue-devil and leading. "What's there to be scared about?"

I shrug, rubbing the cotton-soft white towel through her wet hair. "It's a big deal."

Her lips spread high into the curviest smile; she looks so much like her brother sometimes. "No way. This is going to be awesome."

I lower my lips over to her triple pierced ear. "Ready?" I whisper.

Alice closes her eyes and holds the deepest kind of breath in her little lungs; she nods. I close my eyes and pull the towel away, dropping it to my bare turquoise painted toes.

"Don't look yet," I say. "Lets save this." I wrap my arms around her chest from behind and set my chin on her shoulder. Alice's wet hair brushes against my cheek and her hands reach up and hold mine. Soft, soothing drum beats and lower toned lyrics caress our eardrums from the my best friend's bedroom.

Between _Long beach and L.A._, Alice says, "Can we look now?" Her voice is super high pitched and silly-giddy.

"On the count of three," I say. "One … two—"

"Fuck it, I can't wait. Just look!"

Our eyes open at exactly the same time and a different girl looks back at us. "It's fucking amazing," I say.

Alice sinks her fingers into her newly light-pink, baby colored hair. Wet-wavy, long and pink tinted, Alice holds her ends right up to her face. "Holy shit, I can't believe we did this." She drops the lock and places her hands on the bathroom counter, leaning forward toward the mirror to get a closer look.

I pick the towel up from the floor and rub my hands, trying to wipe away pinkish Shines. Color is buried in my nail walls and in between my fingers. We forgot to get gloves at the beauty supply store. "Just use your hands," Alice said. "It'll come right off," she insisted.

She was wrong. I just can't bring myself to care. Not when my girl is high smiling and pink sparkling.

She looks to me over her shoulder. "Do you fucking love it, or what?"

I nod, rubbing harder.

"Chop it off," she says, holding her hair out. "All of it. Cut it off."

I drop the towel and shake my head. "No! No way. Alice."

She rocks her head back and forth, shaking her hair dry like a puppy dog. Water-pink drops sprinkle my clothes and face, for sure ruining the white Lydia shirt I borrowed from Al.

"Fine, sissy Bliss baby, trim my ends only."

"Okay." I'm still a believer that all girls need to have long hair. Even flower colored skater girls.

Alice is blow drying her tresses and I'm sitting on the toilet, rubbing alcohol into my hands when Esme comes upstairs to see what we're doing. Tall, standing in a pair of red bottom heels, she's perfect and pristine, ready to meet Carlisle for dinner. My boy turned eighteen three days ago and his parents have been planning a party for months. They're meeting up with the caterer one more time before tomorrow night's fiesta.

Since Edward is gone, it'll just be me and Alice home alone … until Jasper and Garrett get here.

"What are you doing?" Esme's eyes bug out; she does the silent cross while she waits for her daughter to explain herself.

Ally turns the heat off, smiles and says, "Looking for my ruca."

.

.

.

"Wake up, baby." His words are near my face. He smells like beer and his hands are firm on my hips. "I need to show you something."

I curl into a sleepy body ball and turn away from my rude awakener. "Leave me alone," I mumble.

Edward slips into his bed beside me, leaving me on his side and him on mine. He's shirtless and warm against my back. His smiles are kiss-pressed into the side of my neck and cheek. He handles me softy, but surely, moving me around until I'm facing him, tired eyed and smirking.

Nothing compares to _this. _

Jasper and Garrett came over with Hot Pockets and a six-pack after Esme left. We titled it the Cheapest Date Ever and watched reality TV until midnight. Jas and Al are still in a state of limbo; sometimes they're good, and sometimes they're better than good … but a lot of the time they're bad, and as the summer progresses, I don't think they'll ever be able to recapture the innocence their relationship had before she kissed Petey. It's almost like they're forcing it.

Garrett and I are worlds away from where they are. We're easy … if we're anything at all. I haven't kissed him again, and I won't because my lips belong to one boy and one boy only, but I've learned that Garrett can hold my hand or touch my knee and it's okay. He's simple and low maintenance, casual. He doesn't need late night phone calls or constant assurance.

_Hey_, he'll text me.

_Hi_, I'll text back … and it's enough. And it means everything.

And it means nothing at all, because while I've grown accustomed to light touches and one-word confidences, Edward is still everything I need and want. He's complicated and extremely pushy. Summertime trouble has turned my boy into a monstrosity, but he's my monster and I need what he needs more than him. I need Edward's constant sureness, and I crave his late night phone calls that last hours and make no sense at all. I love his mixed up words and drug induced bullshit, because buried in that craziness is love.

And nothing compares to_ that._

I wiggle-worm myself closer to Edward, sinking into his body heat and strong arms. I press my cheek against his too-high heartbeat and melt. My boy hasn't left again, and we're together almost every night, because if I'm not here, he's sneaking into my house, but it's five minutes later each time, lessening our moments together as the warm season passes.

On the days and nights we can't be in each other's presence, he's still around, in my ear or in my messages. He never really lets me go, and my grip on him is as tight as ever. We've changed again, but we've always been that way. Edward and I have a way of adapting to the shit he puts us through, or vice versa. He blames a lot of his crazy on me and my refusal to be his girlfriend. And those late night phone calls that make no sense, are usually him in a rage, locked in someone's bathroom, somewhere I don't want him to be.

Love is battling cocaine for love's attention.

She's created a trio out of our duo, and I hate her. I hate her more than anything else. She's the other girl, his bitch on the side … she's the lipstick on his collar. And she makes him so fucking unpredictable.

She's nothing I can't or won't handle, though.

"What is it?" I mumble-whisper, unwilling to open my eyes. If I keep them closed I can imagine his are still blue, and not deep-dark black.

"Everything."

I open up and look. Edward smirks, pushing blonde-red hair out of my face. I rest my chin on his chest, thinking to myself, _he isn't really here. _He's in this bed with me, doing sweet stuff … saying exciting things, but his eyes are wild. He's shaking his foot, unable to stay still for long.

"How long has it been since you slept, Edward?" I ask, taking notice of the slight purple-blue beneath his eyes.

He doesn't answer me with words, but with an envelope. "Here."

Instead of asking what it is again, I sit up and take his letter. It's addressed to _Anthony Edward Cullen_; delivered on his birthday.

"My dad gave it to me after we ate cake on Wednesday." My boy sits up, too. His eyes are on my hands, on the letter … waiting.

Wednesday was Edward's eighteenth birthday. He knows about tomorrow's party, so we kept the actual date low key and private. We started celebrating on Tuesday. The entire family stayed home and watched the clock countdown to midnight. We drank sparkling cider and ate pancakes because Edward said there isn't much better than breakfast for dinner. We all ignored the fact that he was spun because he was calm and it was his night.

At 11:59, we watched the clock and counted as the seconds passed. Esme started to cry, but she was a bottle of Moscato deep, so it was no surprise. Carlisle stood proudly, happy for his son despite his obvious discomfort with Edward's recreational activities, and Alice was on standby, pots and pans in hand, ready to shout to the world that in twenty-nine seconds her older brother would be eighteen-years-old.

My heart beat in sync with each tick of the little second hand. Edward was beside me on the couch, and we held hands under a pillow. As the time tocked by, it felt like we were alone with the clock forcing time down our throats, saying, _you can't fight me! _

I watched in disbelief; _nineteen, eighteen, seventeen … sixteen … fifteen… _

At_ ten_ Edward looked over at me and smiled.

At _seven_ he squeezed my hand.

At _three_ he leaned over and whispered, "Be my girlfriend."

At _one_ I said, "No."

At midnight Alice started to bang shit together and Edward was eighteen.

At 12:01 we all got up and hugged Edward, faming the huge milestone. Petey and Ben called, pissed because Ben's clock was a minute off. "We meant to call at twelve," Pete complained through the speakerphone.

"Do I look different, strawberry-blonde?" Edward asked when it was our turn to hug. "Do I look older?"

We didn't go to bed until after three in the morning, and it was past four by the time Alice succumbed to her stolen Ambien and passed out. Edward was sitting on the edge of his bed when I crept in, shirtless and in jeans like he is now. He held open his arms, and I went to him and sank. We spent the early morning touching and barely-there kissing. Our touches were light and needy. His face was desperate and soft. His words were compelling and low.

When the sun started to come up, we snuck out onto the roof, barefoot and sheet-covered.

It was near perfect, until it wasn't.

That bitch has a way of taking my boy at the worst time. She made him irritable and shaky, unbearable. He didn't want to be touched, but why the fuck wasn't I touching him? The low light was hurting his eyes, but he wanted to watch the fucking day start with me. He was trying to be sweet, didn't I fucking see that? _"You can storm watch with Garrett, but you can't watch the motherfucking sunrise with me?" _

As the sunshine brightened over the tress, Edward's attitude dimmed. And it was that fast; one moment he was fine, and the next he wasn't.

He went straight to the bathroom after we climbed back into his bedroom. I went to his bed and waited, listening through thin walls while he used her. And as sick as it was, I was glad. I knew once he came out, everything was going to be all about me again.

"Are you going to open it?" Edward asks, pulling me away from my thoughts. He stands up and pats a cigarette out of his pack.

I slip my finger under the seal flap and open. The envelope is a heavy, vanilla colored high-grade material. I pull the papers out and set the envelope at my side. Edward lights his nicotine. I look up and he's smiling, encouraging me to read. After I've unfolded the paper, my eyes automatically fall on a number.

A large number.

It's Edward's trust he inherited when his nana died. He's had it for years, but has been unable to touch it until now.

"Insane, right?" Edward laughs, blowing smoke out the window.

"This is all yours?" I ask, dumbfounded. I can't pull my eyes away … I've never, not ever seen anything so incredibly unreal before. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Buy my girl something pretty."

I hold the paper with one hand and turn around to look at Edward, who's now sitting in his newer, bigger and badder computer chair behind me. "Edward, I'm serious."

"So am I." He twirls around, using his foot to spin the chair faster. When he stops and sees I'm not smiling, he sighs. "I don't know, Bliss. I'll keep it. It's for us … when we leave."

"You can go to college," I state the obvious.

Edward rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know."

"You can be anything you want with money like this."

"I don't want to be anything but with you, so drop the heavy shit and be happy." Edward walks over to the bed and snatches the paper from me. He folds it back up and tosses it over his shoulder before tackling me into the mattress. "I'm serious, Bella," he whispers into my ear from behind. He takes my hand, laces our fingers, and presses my palm into his bed. "It's for us."

Love is endless possibilities.

.

.

.

I wake up in Alice's bed after noon. The sun is too bright and my best friend is looking too happy.

"What?" I question, rubbing my eyes.

"You're in love," she says, holding up my phone.

My heart stops and my stomach drops. I sit up and grab my cell from her, hoping she didn't see anything from her brother. I normally erase the messages after he sends them, but you never know … with Edward, you never know anything.

"Were you trying to keep it a secret from me, Bliss?" Alice nudges me with her elbow. She sounds playful and buoyant.

My heart jump-skip-beats, pounding against my diaphragm. My hands shake as I touch-slide my phone on. The room is closing in on me, and when my screen lights up, relief has never felt so good.

She's only talking about a text message from Garrett.

_Hey,_ and that's it.

I take a much needed breath and fall back with my phone over my heart.

"You have it that bad, huh?" Alice laughs.

I shake my head and laugh. "Stay out of my phone, Alice."

"Sorry," she says, getting out of bed. "It went off and you didn't wake up. Tired much?" Her new pink hair is up and mid-morning tousled.

"I didn't sleep well."

Alice pulls the blanket off of me. "Well, get up. We have a party to get ready for!"

Alice tickles the bottom of my feet for fifteen minutes before I finally crawl out of bed. I take my time, though, finding my bra and raking my fingers through my strawberry-blonde sunup mess. My eyes won't open, so I keep them closed as we head downstairs. Alice thinks it's funny and takes a picture of me all zombie apocalypse like.

"I'm so sending this to Garrett," she says.

My eyes snap open. "You better not!"

I chase her down the stairs, and as she turns the corner to run into the kitchen, she runs straight into Petey; he catches her before she falls.

"I like it, pretty in pink," he says, twirling a piece of her ponytail around his finger.

Alice smiles and acts like she's all bashful and embarrassed by the compliment, but that's not her style.

She's keeping her feelings for him a secret from me, so I'm not surprised when she reaches for his hair, pulls and says, "Thanks, dumb in blonde."

He fucking likes it. His smile is lopsided so-in-love-with-her sneaky.

She makes him beg for mercy, and he does, but I'm over their flirting, so I quietly move around them into the kitchen where the coffee is hot and ready. The house is crazy busy. I have to squeeze my way through the caterers to get to the coffee pot, but even then all of the counter space is being used. Appetizers, main courses, desserts; I think the menu is Italian, and it smells so good.

When the dessert guy isn't looking, I steal a chocolate cannoli from his tray and dip it in my coffee.

"I saw that." Esme struts by, winking right before she orders one of the workers setting up the tables outside to—not so kindly—move the stack of chairs away from her new gazebo—now.

It just came in earlier this week, so none of us have dipped in yet, but I cannot wait. It's large and beautiful … and I can't wait to twirl into it.

"Bella, do me a favor, baby," Esme calls over her shoulder. She's at the back door, hanging up a birthday banner . It's crooked, and looks like crap, but she'll figure it out. "Go wake up Dusty for me."

I shove the rest of the cannoli in my mouth and nod. The dessert guy gives me a dirty look.

Alice and Pete are sitting on the bottom step, talking. I walk between them. Alice grabs my ankle, and I almost fall. "Where are you going? I thought we were going to raid the dessert tray."

"I already did." I slip her the napkin wrapped cream-puff I snatched for her after the dessert person gave me the evil eye. "I have to wake up your brother. Your mom needs his help."

"Ha! Good luck," she yells. I'm already down the hall.

I open the door, expecting Edward to be laid out in bed since we didn't get much sleep last night, but he's not. He's up, fresh out of the shower in front of his closet with a gray towel around his waist and another draped over his shoulders. His window is open, but his room still smells like bad habits mixed with hot water and soap. The air is thick from the steam, and when I slip into bed, his sheets are cold, like he hasn't been in them since I left.

"We can ditch this party," he says without looking over. Edward searches thorough his hangers before pulling down a standard white tee shirt. "Take off and never come back."

He drops the towel; unfortunately for me, he already has a pair of boxer briefs on.

"And miss out on panna cotta? I think not."

Edward turns around, slipping the shirt over his head. "You would choose sugar over love."

I shake my head and smile. "Sugar is love."

My boy pulls down a pair of cargo shorts and steps into them. I pout, and he laughs. "You want some of this?" Edward jokes, cupping himself.

I slump into the pillows, laughing. I have to hold my stomach and bite my lip.

"Is something funny?" he asks, playfully. Edward pulls the covers off of me like Alice did earlier this morning. "Do you think my dick is a big joke, sunny side?"

"It's big, but it's not a joke." I slap my hands over my mouth the moment the words pass my lips. Edward's eyes widen before he leans his head back and laughs out loud, holding his hands over his stomach.

He falls into bed beside me and chuckles a little more. "You're killin' me, Isabella Bliss."

I lift his arm and push myself against his side, lying my head on his chest. I've grown accustomed to his accelerated heartbeat over the last couple of weeks. I've even gotten used to the darkness of his eyes, because like his blues, his dilated black shows me so much. He's in a good mood now, so the black is soft … happy, even. But when he get's upset, the black is devilish … too bottomless-gone and untouchable.

"You're not afraid of it anymore?" I ask softly, holding my hand over his heart, like I can slow it down myself.

Edward takes a deep breath and sighs. "Nah." He knows what I'm talking about … what no one else in this family is brave enough to bring up.

My boy doesn't just smoke a little pot anymore. He's in deep.

He hides her from everyone; he'll wear his sunglasses inside, or he won't come home until his family is asleep. They know what's going on, though. It's in his body language and his sometimes too pale skin. It's in his moodiness and lack of appetite. It's when he sleeps all day, sick, but wakes up perfectly fine, unsick. It's in secret handshakes with Dimitri, who I hate more than Edward's dope-open eyes. His parents whisper when he's not around. Alice told me she caught Esme searching though his room, but my boy isn't stupid enough to leave his shit around. He's sneaky with her.

It's different with me, though. I see his eyes all of the time, and while he doesn't use in front of me, I know when he does. He talks to me about her, too. About how she makes him feel … the rush, the good and ugly … the numbness.

"Except from you," he said when I asked him why he didn't want to feel anything. "It's not that way with you. With you, I feel everything."

"It's being invulnerable," he said another time we spoke about it. "Like I can do anything."

He makes it sound so … provocative. But since he doesn't hide the bad from me, I see the flip side, too. The first time he came to my house shaking and scared, I almost woke up my dad. "I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me," Edward said. "Just fucking hold me," he groaned. "Just touch me and make this shit better."

"Will you stop when school starts again?" I ask. We're only six weeks into summer, but it feels like it's been months. These ups and downs are hard to keep with. I can't imagine dealing with this during school weeks.

"Yeah. I can stop whenever I want." His smirk is delicious, but I want to smack it off his face. He must notice because he smiles higher and slips his arm under me, holding my sides with both hands. In one swoop, I'm straddling his hips. "Come on, Bliss, it's my birthday weekend. You have to be nice."

I roll my eyes. "You don't think we've outgrown the rules yet?"

Edward slips his hands under my sleep shirt and circles his thumbs slowly on my stomach. "No. You're only fifteen. You haven't outgrown shit."

I gasp and playfully punch him in the chest once, twice, three times. He finally grabs my wrist and flips us over so he's on top and in between my thighs. He feels so good there, it's hard not to quietly sigh. And it's impossible not to circle, circle, circle against where I love him so much. My pink cotton shorts are thin, and he's hard under cargo.

"Don't fuck with me," Edward whispers against my skin, soft kissing my neck. His throaty tone makes me wild, and the rumble in his chest throws me over the edge.

My skin lights up, sensitive and alive. His hands are on his mattress at the sides of my head, holding himself up. It's killing me that he's not touching me somewhere … anywhere. His lips are teasing and his hips are barely moving. He's being too careful, too slow.

In my need for more, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the side. Edward palms my breast and kisses my lips. He tastes like mint and smells soft and soapy, clean.

I reach down between us and unbutton his shorts. Edward rests his forehead on mine, with pouty lips and slightly flushed cheeks. His black is so open, so fucked up and honest.

When I have him open and out, I wrap my hand around his base and move just as slowly as he was kissing me. Edward's eyes close and his lips lift at the corner.

"Too slow?" I whisper.

He shakes his head, but covers my hand with his anyway. Edward strokes faster and harder, but his grips is gentle over my own.

I love the faces he makes.

I love making him feel good.

Love is slow-hard strokes and brought together eyebrows.

"You have to hurry," I say quietly, leaving heavy kisses at the corner of his mouth, soaking in his sweet, warm breath.

Then I have an idea.

And this time I'm flipping Edward onto his back. He falls back on his elbows with wide, glossy eyes and the sweetest swollen lips. His hair is still damp and pushed up where my fingers were.

"What's wrong?" he asks, breathlessly.

I bite on my bottom lip and crawl between his knees. I have no idea what I'm doing, or how to do it, but Alice talks about it sometimes. She said it makes Jasper feel crazy good. She said she literally owns him when her mouth his on him this way.

I scoot a little closer. Edward tries to pull me on top of him, but I don't budge. Nothing with my boy is ever awkward, and this is no exception. We're so natural and supposed to be, so even through I'm clueless, I know him … I know him by heart, and that makes this so easy.

But when I wrap my hand around his length and push my hair to one side of my shoulder, Edward finally catches on.

"Wait … wait—Bella, no." He tries to pull himself away, but I hold on, and now we're in this weird struggle over his penis, and it's so funny we start to laugh way too loudly.

Then there's a knock on the door and everything is real again: we're a secret doing secret things in his bedroom on secret stolen time.

"Edward," Esme says from the other side of the locked door, "get up."

My boy slips himself back into his shorts and buttons them before I get any more ideas. "You're fucking nuts," he says, pushing me back onto my side of the bed. "You stay over there."

He gets out of bed, and I smile, shirtless and lightheaded, because he's still hard and showing through his shorts. Edward pushes down on himself as he reaches for my shirt. "I told you not to fuck with me, baby."

"You would have liked it," I reply jokingly and light.

Edward smokes while I redress myself. His smile is contagious and his good mood is infectious. So when I'm fully clothed, I jump onto his computer desk and sit beside him while he lights up. We manage to talk about normal things—school, friends, family—and it's good. So good that when Alice and Petey knock on the door, Edward lets them in and our conversation carries on for over an hour. We laugh and remember and daydream.

It's so okay that I think, _maybe._

Just because we're having a good time doesn't mean Esme is, though. She's been trying to get Edward out of his room for a couple of hours and is growing incredibly frustrated with her birthday brat.

"Dusty, get your ass down here before I beat you!" she yells from the bottom of the stairs.

Alice and Pete are laughing, and in their distraction I lean in and whisper to Edward, "Are you ready to party, party boy?"

.

.

.

"Bigger, Bliss. Make it bigger!" Alice takes the teasing comb from me and dives into her huge pink hair. "My goal is Amy Winehouse, not J-Woww."

I leave Alice to it; my wrists hurt anyway. I sit on the edge of her bed and watch as my best friend poof, poof, poofs her hair. When it's finally as big as she wants it, she asks me to help her pin it back, half up and half down. She leaves her side bangs down and softly curls her cotton-candy pink ends that were left untouched. After a shit-ton of hairspray, Alice lays the eyeliner on heavy, ending her look with her signature red lips.

"Your turn." Alice laughs, coming at me with the tube of lipstick.

My long strawberry hair is board-straight and pulled back into a tight ponytail, out of my face. My make up is applied light and natural … with the exception of my matches-my-best-girl's red lips. My parents are going to be here tonight, so while I want to be dressed up for the occasion, I have to keep it toned down until they leave. They already don't know Esme bought me a new outfit. The last thing I need is for my mother to insist I wash my face clear of make up in front of Edward and all of his friends.

"Why did you even invite them?" Alice asks, slipping out of her gray cotton shorts and into her denim boyfriends.

I carefully pull my black tube top over my hair and down my chest, slipping on a cream-colored sheer tank top over that. "Your mom did."

It's not that I don't want them to come, but I couldn't have not invited them, anyway. The party is in celebration of Edward turning eighteen, but it's also a pretty important event. Carlisle invited co-workers and distinguished clients; Alice and Edward have family coming in from all over the place; and it's all that anyone has been talking about for the last couple of weeks. I mean, my mom questioned me about the party before I even brought it up.

They have to come, so I _have _to be on my best behavior while they're here. Which means leaving my new spike-studded heels in the box and wearing my black flats until Mom and Dad leave. I can't drink or cuss, or do anything out of character. My parents have to see that I am the same girl at the Cullens' that I am at home. I follow rules. I'm innocent. I'm not in love with the boy down the hall.

"Maybe they'll leave fast," Alice says, slipping her feet into a pair of simple black platform heels. After she has on a tube top that matches mine, she helps me squeeze into my black, super-skinnies. "You need to lay off the fucking Twinkies, princess." We laugh, finally getting my pants over my ass.

Downstairs, Esme did a really good job about keeping the party outside of the house. The kitchen crew is still hard at work, completing the finishing touches on dinner. The dessert guy is MIA, so I take the opportunity to snatch a few more cream-puffs.

"I saw that," my teenage dream whispers to me from behind—caught for the second time today.

I turn around … and melt.

_He's beautiful. _

Black slacks, black shirt, white skinny tie; my boy is to die for. He's even wearing dress shoes. Edward's hair is gelled and brushed over, like Jack Dawson, only better. His eyes match his shirt, and he smells like mischief and bad intentions and Hugo Boss. It's so him, though, and my heart kick-pumps in my chest. My fingertips tingle, and my stomach twirls and dances.

I bite into my puff when he smiles. It's all I can do to keep from jumping him in front of his family and the caterers.

"Are you sure you don't want to ditch this place?" he asks very quietly. Edward reaches over my shoulder and steals a chocolate covered strawberry.

"Bella, let's take a shot before your parents get here." Alice fist pumps from the other side of the kitchen island.

I move away from Edward, putting some distance between us before I do or say something I might regret. Pete and Ben join us, looking as handsome as they ever have. They look clean and proper, like gentlemen. It's a good look.

Carlisle tells us to take it easy on the booze. "The chief is going to be a guest," he reminds us.

My cheeks burn. He's my dad … _the fucking party wrecker. _

Carlisle squeezes my shoulder before walking out the back door after his wife, who is stunning in a floor length charcoal gown.

"Just take one," Alice insists, pouting four shots of Maker's Mark.

I shake my head, swallowing the rest of my puff. "Alice, I can't."

Pete and Ben start to give me a hard time. But they don't know, and neither does Alice, really. No one has parents like mine. They're constantly looking for change in me … any little imperfection will set them off, and all of this will be taken away.

Edward finally speaks up, because he's aware. He's the only one who is. "Hey," he snaps,"leave her the fuck alone."

Alice looks at the shot glasses for a long second before she shrugs her shoulders and pushes them into the kitchen sink. "Fine," she says, "but we're getting stupidfacedd once your parents are gone."

"Thank you." I smile.

"Yeah, yeah." Alice waves her hand around. "You'll make up for it later. I'm going to get you stupid drunk and naked in the Jacuzzi."

I laugh. Edward snorts, annoyed.

"What?" Alice snips. "Are you fucking jealous or something, Dusty? Why do you even care, fucker?"

The kitchen workers try to pretend like they're not listening, but they are. Edward's jaw is tight, and his friends are laughing at him.

Thankfully Esme pops her head in from outside and says, "Bliss, your parents are here."

.

.

.

I eat dinner with Mom and Dad. Our table is right beside the Cullens', outside in their backyard where the party is set up. Alice and I make funny faces, and she shows me her chewed up lasagna. It sucks I can't sit with my friend, even though the empty chair at their table with my name on it makes it an option, but Leah, Lauren and Rosalie are all assigned to my table, so it's not too bad.

The backyard is crowed with people. The low beats of the Beatles 'Let It Be' swim in the warm summertime air. Forks and knives scrape across plates; laughter floats from different corners of the yard; my boy sneaks a look that makes me blush.

Everything is so calm now—give it a couple of hours and you won't even know it was the same party.

To my left, two tables over, Garrett sits with Jasper and his family. He doesn't show me his food or give me tingle-causing looks. He just is. He smiles and that's it. And it's enough to warm my cheeks and lift my lips.

"This is a nice party," Dad says. He looks around, nodding his head when he and Carlisle catch eyes. "Kind of a big deal for a teenager, though."

"He's eighteen, Dad." I take a drink of my water. Edward's entire table erupts in laughter; I look over in envy.

"It must have cost a lot," Mom adds.

"Maybe," I say. I have no idea how much it cost, but why do they care? They didn't pay for it.

After dinner, Esme embarrasses Edward by giving a toast. _"My baby boy is so grown up," _she says._ "Your father and I were so happy the day you were born." _He doesn't believe them.

I look over at my mom and she's crying. "What?" she asks. "You don't think I care about him, too?"

Dad hands her a napkin.

I manage to get away from my parents once the toasts are done. I meet a lot of Alice and Edward's family, including their Aunt Elizabeth who I've heard tons about. She's just like Esme, only not as sharp … not as perfect.

It's Carlisle's turn to acquaint me with his friends after that. He's always introduced me as his "other daughter," but never with my parents around, and I can tell it makes my dad uncomfortable. I say a polite hello to Carlisle's co-workers and move along. Not too long after that, Esme wants to take pictures. I stand back and watch while Carlisle, Esme, Alice and Edward take a few, and it makes me happy to see them dressed up and together. It's when Esme insists I take some with the family that things get awkward.

I try to decline, but you don't say no to Esme Cullen. I end up between Alice and Edward. Dad is grumbling, but Edward's arm is around me so I don't give a shit.

I say cheese and smile.

After the tables are cleared, all of the pictures have been taken, and the music is playing a little louder, Mom has a drink at the bar with Esme, and Dad gets with Mr. Hale to talk about boring dad stuff, thankfully leaving me to do my own thing. I still can't drink, but Alice has a few.

"Dance with me," she begs, pulling me to the dance floor by my wrists. I try to fight her but end up giving in.

No one at the party is drunk enough, or brave enough to dance yet. All of the suits are still suiting and Edward is smiling, playing the perfect son for his father's acquaintances. Everything is kind of stiff and on edge.

Alice places her hands on my hips, forcing me to sway. "Come on, princess," she encourages.

Mom and Esme watch us from the bar. Esme is all smiles, happy to see us happy, but Mom's face is a little different. Her eyes are looking a little harder … deeper. If I dance the wrong way she might say something. Or maybe she can tell that Alice has been drinking. I don't know, but I hate being under her microscope.

As I scope my surroundings, I notice she isn't the only one looking. Edward, who has his hands in his pockets and his Ray Bans on his face, even though it's after twilight, is looking in my direction, too. So is Garrett. I'm on this dance floor with my girl, but I feel like their stares are pulling me in three different directions. They all want something different: the uncorrupted daughter; a told secret; more than friends.

All at once, at a place like this, it's almost too much to handle.

An hour later, my parents are standing with me in front of the car. The little bit of anxiety I felt earlier on the dance floor with Alice is now a full on panic. They want me to leave.

"Bella, I don't know those people. There's going to be drinking..." Mom trails off, waiting for Dad to finish.

"You can come back in a couple of days," he says dismissively.

I cross my arms over my chest, biting my tongue. "Mom, I've been looking forward—"

"I don't care, Isabella," she cuts me off, opening the car door. "Get in, or you won't be coming back."

I drop my arms. Nothing I do stops my eyes from watering. "I have to get my stuff."

"Is everything okay?" Esme asks, suddenly beside me. She smiles, making me feel better.

"Bella wants to stay, but I'm not comfortable with the drinking," Mom answers. She doesn't sound aggravated with Esme for involving herself, which is a surprise.

Esme puts her arms around me, hugging me tight. "Oh, let her stay, Renee. This party is almost over anyway."

Mom looks to Dad, and Dad looks at me. It's like he's checking me for a crack … an imperfection, a sign that he can't trust me. I have many reasons they shouldn't trust me, but never have I given him one. He's leery, though. Maybe he can't help it. I'm his daughter, but it's his job to seek untruth in people.

I resent him for it, even though I shouldn't. Even though I am a liar; I detest him for knowing what to look for—for making my life harder than I've already made it myself.

Esme helps, though. She helps me cover the biggest lie of all without even knowing it. She sweet talks and fake smiles well enough for my parents to believe her, to trust her enough to let me stay. But I know. I know Esme is drowning in wine. It's why she sneaks inside every fifteen minutes. She nurses the glass she got with my mom earlier, but in the house, up in her room … probably on her dresser, is her hidden bottle.

We're both good deceivers.

"Call me if anything happens," Mom says. She kisses my forehead and hugs me tight.

I can hardly contain my smile, but I do. I don't want to look too relieved in their decision to let me stay. My dad might get suspicious. He might wonder why I care so much. He might find the crack.

Esme and I wave as my parents reverse out of the driveway. Mom flips down the visor and the orange-yellow light from the mirror illuminates her face; she wipes mascara out from under her bottom lashes. Dad doesn't take his eyes off of me until he puts the car in drive and slowly moves down the road to the highway.

A few other people are making their way out as Esme and I stroll back to the party. She stops to say goodbye, but I keep going. I walk until I'm at the back door, through the kitchen, and up the stairs. The first thing I do once I'm back in Alice's room is change my shoes. The studded heels make me three inches taller and ten times more comfortable. I reapply my lipstick and tighten my ponytail. I smile and mean it.

Even though guilt decays my insides.

I push it away … deep down with everything else I carry.

Back downstairs, I find Alice; pink hair isn't easy to miss. The sun is completely down and the twinkling lights around the party sets the mood now. A lot of people have left, and the ones who do remain are letting loose—close friends, Edward's aunt, a few faces I don't recognize. Edward's slacks sag and his tie is undone. His sunglasses are off and his hair isn't so perfect, but more himself. The same goes for the few suits who stay with Carlisle—they're not so pristine anymore, but laid back and carefree.

The music is louder, there's a line at the bar, and a few people on the dance floor. It's exciting. And it's enough to bury away the rest of the guilt.

"Let's get a drink," I whisper into Alice's ear.

Hand in hand, we push through the line to the very front. The bartender looks at us oddly, almost like he isn't going to serve us because we're so obviously underage. But then Edward is between us, with his arms over our shoulders. The bartender recognizes him, either as the birthday boy or from the apparent few trips Edward made here himself.

"Three tequila doubles," Edward orders. He kisses my cheek. He kisses Alice's, too, but his weight leans on me, not her.

"Make it five," Ben calls, stepping beside me with Pete. Pete winks. I ignore him.

Five shots line up. We each grab one. We toast to birthday fun and sweet summer. Then we shoot.

The first shot sets off the night. Alice and I float around, sitting with one group of friends only long enough to say 'hi' before we're off to the next. The mood is light and euphoric. Everyone is laughing and socializing. Carlisle calls Alice and I over to his table. Alice sits on his lap and drinks his drink. His colleagues laugh, admiring her hair.

"She did it!" Alice points to me with drunk-glossy eyes and the most genuine I-love-my-best-friend smile.

We're on the dance floor now. Alice is in front of me with a red solo cup in her left hand. The party guest are finally liquored up enough to let go of their embarrassment and dance, so the floor is full. Amongst the crowd is the Sluts. They're behind me and Alice, dancing their little hearts out. It pisses me off.

_Why do they always have to be around?_

"Who invited them?" I ask Alice over the music. I take her cup and sip—gulp.

She looks over her shoulder and screams, "Go the fuck home!"

Before any of the Sluts have a chance to react, the DJ switches the song. Of course Alice knows all the words.

"_It's like cuz, blood, gangbangin'. Everybody in the party doin' dope slangin'." _

She moves her right arm back and forth like a real rapper, and when she messes up the words, we laugh out loud and she jumps into my arms.

We're with Jasper and Garrett. I'm sitting on his lap, and even though I don't know how I go there, I stay. His right hand is on my hip, keeping me steady, but both of my hands are on my cup. My head is swimming; time moves by quickly in twirls and swirls and spilled drinks and refills.

But I feel him still.

I sense Edward's eyes. I know they're on me.

My heartbeat quickens, and it's not because Garrett sits up, pulling me further up his lap. It's not because his warm breath tickles the side of my neck. Or because he lifts my cup for me, holding it while I drink.

It's because Edward's jealousy and anger is exciting. It's because when I'm done drinking, Garrett wipes my chin with this thumb just as my eyes finally find Edward's across the yard.

I laugh spitefully. "How does it fucking feel?" I mumble to Edward, even though I know he won't hear me.

"What did you say, drunk-punch?" Garrett asks playfully. His lips graze my earlobe. He gives me chills … my entire body quivers.

_I like his voice. _

With my eyes locked with my love's, I lean back against Garrett's chest.

I'm inside the house, waiting to use the downstairs restroom. I can go upstairs, but that's too much effort. Besides, if I go into Edward's room, I might slip into dark-gray sheets and never come out.

I knock three times. Hard. "Hello!" I yell through wood. "Can you hurry up?"

The door opens. Victoria stands on the other side. "Little sister," she says, "why didn't you say it was you?"

She pulls me in.

The restroom is small, with only a toilet, a sink and a mirror. Victoria, Kim, Mixie and Charlotte take up most of the room, giving me a opening big enough to pull down my pants and pee. They act like I'm not even here, listening in on their conversation.

I sit on the toilet with my knees pressed together and my eyes wide.

Victoria has her face right up to the mirror. She rubs lipstick out from under her lip. Her eyes are black, like Edward's. Like Petey's and Ben's.

"You can't keep it, obviously." She rolls her eyes.

I pull toilet paper from the roll.

"I mean," Vic scoffs, "It's not like Dimitri would ever, like, be around."

Mixie has her arms crossed over her chest. She's been crying. She is crying. Kim's beside her, agreeing with Vic.

"He's a fucking lowlife," she adds.

Charlotte, who's leaned against the wall across from Mixie shakes her head. "You guys don't know that."

I wipe myself and stand up. Kim finally looks at me just as I'm pulling my pants back up. She ignores me, though, and they continue their conversation.

"He didn't care when you told him," Victoria points out, turning away from the mirror only long enough to look at Mixie.

I kind of step between them to wash my hands, but I'm still invisible. That's until Vic says, "Cute shoes, little sis."

I nod, pumping soap into my palm.

"I don't know," Mixie finally speaks. I turn on the water and lather my hands. "I just don't know if I can do it."

"You don't want a kid with him, Mix. Trust me." Victoria twists, giving Mixie all of her attention. Her tone even softens, like she might actually care.

But my hands have stopped moving. My heart doesn't beat. Air catches in my throat.

"Would you do it?" Mixie asks her; tears fall down from her eyes. "If Edward or some shit got you pregnant, would you do it?"

Without hesitation—without a second to think, Victoria hands me a towel to dry off my hands and says, "Yes."

.

.

.

My mind won't work right. I can't fucking think. I can hardly move. I'm just going through the motions now. I'm back at the table with Alice, Jasper and Garrett, sitting in my own seat this time. I slide my pointer finger around the rim of my cup, lost.

I ran straight into Edward when I left the restroom. Literally.

"What the fuck was that, Bliss?" he whispered harshly, puling me deeper into the hallway leading to the garage, past the restroom where the Sluts spoke so freely and easily about the most serious of issues.

Maybe I wanted that reaction from Edward earlier. It's why I was on Garrett's lap. It's why I laid back. It's why I found his eyes before I went inside … before I went in and everything changed. I wanted his attention. I wanted his strength and muscle, and lips and teeth, and threats and promises.

But after what I heard, none of that mattered, because suddenly his life was bigger than mine. More serious, disgusting and real. It's a first hand encounter with the results of his ugly ways. And it's more than the superficial shit—jealousy, secrets, and habits. What's happening to Mixie is life altering. With one decision she can change so many lives.

And Edward could be putting himself in the same situation all of the time.

"Did you know?" I asked pulling my arm free from his grip. I did my best not to slur. I kept my footing still and balled my fist. I punched Edward in the chest. "Did you fucking know about Mixie?" I whispered harshly.

"Know what?" he asked through his teeth, capturing my fist. His black eyes were alive and on fire. He was angry. I couldn't hear his heavy breathing though the loud music, but I saw his body language changing. He went from devilishly jealous, to irate.

"That Mixie is pregnant. That she's getting an abortion." I pulled my hand loose and started to walk away. He let me. I walked past the bathroom where the girls discussed being and not being, and before I turned the corner back into the kitchen, I said, "If you got Victoria pregnant she'd do the same thing, you know."

Love is revoltingly binding.

But even love has its breaking point.

I don't know how much time has passed since my run in with Edward. I just spin, spin, spin my finger around my cup, thinking. Wondering why I do this to myself. Wondering what Edward hasn't told me. What he hides.

Because he hides. I know he does.

Garrett's warm palm glides up my back before settling on the back on my neck. I look over at him and smile. I blink, for what feels like the first time in an hour. My eyes are dry. I close them and shake my head. I sit up and stretch my arms. I look around and notice that the party has thinned out considerably. It must be late because the air is crisp, almost cold. The music is still on, but not as loud. The bartender is cleaning glasses; in front of him is a bowl full of dollar bills.

I don't really know when all my friends left. I don't remember saying goodbye to any of them.

"What time is it?" I ask … anyone.

"Twelve-thirty," Garrett answers.

Loud laughter grabs my attention. It's Victoria. She's sitting at Edward's table with Petey and Ben. Too many cups to count lie in front of them, empty with refills in their grips. Mixie, who was not so long ago crying in the restroom, is acting like nothing is wrong. She's drinking too, and it's too much to look at.

Edward is indifferent to it all. He sits, quietly sipping from his drink. His hair is competently fucked up now and his shirt is unbuttoned, showing his white under tee. His eyes are heavy, spun and drunk. My boy has an energy around him; it vibrates and sparks and burns, warning me not to fuck around, because he will not be fucked with.

The thought makes me smirk.

I stand up from the table, knowing his eyes are on me. "What happened to getting stupid drunk?"

Alice's lips spread into the biggest smile. "I'm almost there."

A few shots later, Alice is in her bra and underwear, swinging her hips, standing on the edge of the jacuzzi. She's let her hair down, but it's a teased mess.

"I fucking love you!" she screams into the night; her arms are extended and wide, like she wants to fly.

I'm beside her, dying from laughter.

"Alice Cullen!" Carlisle shouts from the porch where he's sitting with his wife. Thankfully all of his co-workers and clients have left the motherfucking building. The only people still hanging around are the boys, the Sluts, and Jasper and Garrett. "Put your fucking clothes back on!"

She flips her dad off, drinks the rest of her drink, tosses the cup, and jumps in. Water splashes all over me, but I don't give a fuck. In fact, this is how Edward must feel all of the time, about everything.

I just don't give a fuck.

I don't care that Garrett and Jasper are looking at us like we're crazy, like we're two girls that they don't know at all, or that Carlisle is running toward us, or that Edward just pushed his chair back, watching me with the anger of the entire world in his stare.

"I don't fucking care!" I scream to the stars like Alice. My voice echos off the house and trees.

My girl rises from the water. I'm wet, so when she reaches out and grabs me, it doesn't matter. She pulls off my sheer tank, then my tube top, leaving me in my black strapless bra. I step out of my shoes and let Ally pull me into the warm water with my pants on.

When I come up, Carlisle's here, pissed and yelling, "Have some fucking respect!" and "What the fuck is going on?"

Alice and I sink back under.

Only to be pulled out by her older brother and his friends.

I laugh as Edward grabs me by my arms, pulling me over the edge of the gazebo. He shoves a towel into my chest and turns his anger onto Alice. He points his finger and says, "You're one of them now, or what?"

He means the Sluts, who just happen to be watching us, laughing.

I throw the towel back at him. It hits Edward in the side of the head. Then I pick up one of my heels and throw it. My aim was for her face, but it collides with Victoria's chest. "Fucking leave!" I scream.

"You have got to be kidding me," Carlisle mumbles. He wants to laugh, so he covers his face with his hands.

Father of the fucking year.

Esme comes down just as the shoe hits the ground after striking Vic. She takes Alice, who's being held by Pete, into her arms. The sluts are all full of gasps and scoffs. Victoria looks hurt by my frustration.

But I still don't give a fuck.

Alice and I are laughing until we cry, wet and in our unders. Carlisle's trying to calm us down, but he ends up laughing, too. The only person not laughing is Edward. He wraps the towel around my shoulders and stands in front of me; his eyes are on Garrett.

I'm still wound up, though. Frustration I've kept hidden is coming to the surface. Bathroom gossip and "_I told him I loved him, but I didn't mean it,"_ send me into a rage not even Edward can hold me back from. Liquor brave and love scorned, I drop the towel and run.

I've never really hit anyone before. I'm running purely off a false bravado. My mind is blank with one goal in mind: hurt her like she's always hurt me.

But even that is taken away before I get a change to reach out and blow. Just as she's cowering and the other girls are stepping away, Edward swoops in and wraps his arm around my middle and spins me around. He carries me kicking and screaming into the house.

I try to push down on his arm to loosen his hold, but he's so much stronger than I am.

"I fucking hate you!" I scream until my voice breaks. Victoria stands there, shocked. But she doesn't know. How would she? "I hate you so much!"

Edward opens the back door with one hand, still able to hold me with the other. He pushes me inside and slams the door shut when he's on the same side as I am. I don't try to push past him; it would be a wasted effort.

The bright light in the kitchen hurts my eyes. They're sore, aching, because I refuse to let them cry. My hands are shaking. And my legs. And my heart. Edward and I are at a kind of, sort of standstill. He's in front of the door, unsteady in anger, and I'm beside the kitchen table, meeting him head on.

He starts by unbuttoning the rest of his black button up. He slips his arms out, never taking his eyes away from me, and throws it in my direction. It falls at my feet.

"Pick it up, Bella," he says lowly, roughly.

We have enough to argue about, so I pick it up and put it on. I take my time buttoning each button with quivering hands and heavy deep breaths. My jaw aches and my eyes sting, begging to let go.

Edward is shifty, unstill. He moves his hand through his hair, pats his pockets for his cigarettes, and paces. We both know this is not the place for the argument we are so ready to have. And the footsteps coming up the porch is the reason why. Just as I button the last button, the door reopens and Carlisle walks in. with Esme and everyone else behind him.

We do a good job at pretending like nothing is happening. Edward opens the fridge and tosses me a bottle of water; I take it. I even say thank you.

"I think it's time for everyone to just calm the fuck down," Carlisle says with a sarcastic smirk. "I didn't know you had it in you, Bella." He laughs. So does everyone else. "Maybe we should just watch a movie or something. Or go to bed."

Alice scoffs. "No way. I'm not even tired."

And so it starts again, only different. Alice and I go upstairs and change into some dry clothes: sweats and band tees. We laugh about how I almost hit Vic, and what her face looked like when my heel hit her in the chest.

"What was that all about?" she asks, trying to brush the knots out of her pink locks.

I shrug. "Drunk, I guess." And I am. I'm tossed.

Back downstairs, the TV is on. Esme has changed out of her dress and is sitting on the couch with her husband. They watch Alice and I as we walk into the kitchen. Not so surprisingly, Vic and the rest of her girls are still here, sitting at the kitchen table.

"What, you don't leave until you get fucked, or what?" Alice asks sarcastically. She pulls the chair out beside Kim and sits.

Jasper and Garrett are here, too. It's awkward. They kind of stand back, not as outcasts, though … that's not their style. They're cool, comfortable in their own skin. I ignore Edward, who I don't think is looking at me anyway, and go right to the boy who gave me his sweater when I was cold and let me borrow his bike because I can't skate.

"You okay?" Garrett asks lowly, safely … honestly. He scoots over, allowing me to lean beside him.

"Yeah." I nod and smile, taking a sip of the drink he's had all night.

I lean against the counter, between this crazy warm boy and Jasper. Vic, Kim, Charlotte and Mixie sit around the table, talking amongst themselves. Edward, Ben and Pete are with them. I still hate Victoria. I hate that after what just happened, she didn't get a clue and leave. Not that I want her to figure it out. I don't want her to know that I hate her so much because she used to fuck my love. I just want her to know I can't stand to look at her. I want her to stop being nice to me. I want to stop pretending that I like it when she shows me attention.

She makes my skin crawl.

She must feel my eyes because she looks up. I take another drink from Garrett's cup; alcohol losing its burn a while ago.

I won't say sorry to her, because I'm not. I'm only sorry I didn't scratch her eyes out. I'm sorry my shoe didn't hit her face like I wanted it to. I'm sorry she's so fucking desperate for attention that she's still here.

She's chosen Ben tonight, obviously. Her chair is scooted close to his; he has his arm over her shoulder … but he's distant.

Just not completely.

"My shoe wasn't supposed to hit your chest," I say. It's as close to an apology as she's going to get from me.

Edward scoffs, smiling into the neck of his beer. He takes a drink before setting green-glass back on wood. "Princess Bliss had too much to drink tonight," he says.

Just like that, the incident is forgotten and Victoria forgives me.

"I know how it is, little sister." She turns her attention to Mixie, who is still fucking drinking. "Remember that one time—"

And nothing I did matters, because I'm just the little fucking sister.

.

.

.

When the kitchen became too crowded, even though it wasn't exactly, we took the party back outside. After I finished the rest of Garrett's drink, I stopped drinking. I'm starting to get tired now, and the slow rocking of the swing isn't helping. My head is in Ben's lap and my feet are in Edward's.

When Carlisle and Esme decided they were ready for bed, they said the Sluts had to go. Jasper and Garrett left right after them. It was weird saying goodbye. I wanted to touch him … hug Garrett, maybe. But I didn't; I just waved from the same porch swing I'm in now and sunk in to cuddle with my boys.

Edward isn't really touching me, and I can feel how tense he still is. This night is long from over for us. But Ben is attentive. He's sweet and caring, running his fingers through my now down hair. It's affectionate, but in the most innocent way. I love him for it. I love Ben for just being here to give me some care when he has no idea how badly I need it.

Alice and Petey are skating. They have been for the last twenty-minutes. The sound of their wheels hitting the pavement is a lullaby putting me under. It's familiar … just the five of us. And it seems like forever since we've done this.

I close my eyes and let the swing take me away. Alice's laughter opens my chest and fills it with the simplest kind of content. Ben keeps touching, and after a while, Edward does too. He places his hand on my calf and circles his thumbs in soft, slow turns. The air is soothing cool, filled with sounds of crickets and breezes through the trees. The occasional car drives down the highway in the distance, and the swing has a tiny squeak that sings softly every time Edward and Ben move us with their feet. My breathing slows and my eyelids grow heavy; I'm almost asleep with thoughts of skinny ties and monumental birth dates.

Until perfection is interrupted by a crash, fall and break.

My eyes snap open with her scream. Ben jumps up; so does Edward. It takes me a second to gather myself long enough to see what's happening.

Alice's board is upside down on its deck; pink wheels spin, spin, spin. She's sitting up, on her bottom, holding her wrist. Petey is bent down in front of her, asking her to just let him look.

"Please, Al. Just let me see," he asks softly.

Edward and Ben kneel beside Pete. I get up and run down the steps to the driveway and stand behind them with my hands over my mouth.

Her wrist is broken. Completely.

"It hurts!" she screams, holding her arm to her chest. Little Alice tears run down her rosy-red cheeks.

The front door opens and Carlisle and Esme run out, sleepy faced and in pajamas. "What the hell is going on now?" he asks, disoriented.

Edward and Ben help Alice up. I don't know what to do, so I just stay near while Pete tries to explain that he and Alice were skating and she jumped on his back and he lost his footing and they went down, backwards. He fell on her, and she tried to break the impact by putting her arms out. They both landed on her wrist and they heard a snap and … and—

He's scared. Genuinely horrified.

"She has to go to the ER, Carlisle," Esme says, taking a look at Alice's wrist, which is swelling fast.

"Yeah ...um." He runs his hands through his hair like I've seen my boy do so many times before. "Let me get my shoes and the keys."

Alice cries soft little tears while I put her shoes and socks on for her. It's decided that Carlisle, Esme and Petey are going to the emergency room. I say we all should go, but no one agrees.

"Stay here and get some sleep for the both of us," Esme says, coming down the stairs in a hoodie and leggings. Her hair is up and her feet smack in a pair of flip flops.

"I don't want your dad to find out we had you at the ER at three in the morning, Bliss. Stay here with Ben and Edward," Carlisle suggests, grabbing his car keys.

"Are you sure?" I ask Alice, feeling terrible. I want to be with my friend.

She nods and cries a little more. Edward sits beside her, not saying a word. When Alice stands, he stands with her, walking his sister to the door. Everyone is in a rush to get out, but I stay on the couch. My stomach hurts and my eyes are aching again. I pull my knees up to my chest and hold on. Ben sighs, sitting up from the love seat across the living room.

"I'm going to take off," he says with a yawn. "I'll see you, princess."

"Bye, Ben," I whisper.

Edward follows everyone out, and I listen while two different cars start up and pull away; their headlights light up the living room. Edward comes back when the driveway is empty. He steps inside and carefully shuts the front door with a click. He locks it without looking, heading into the kitchen without even glancing at me.

He's cleaning out cups and loading the dishwasher, putting this and that away. When he's done, he checks the back door and turns off the light. The living room is lit up orange-yellow from Esme's new lamp. The one she bought to replace the lamp Carlisle broke when he had his son pushed up against the door.

"Come on," Edward whispers, standing in front of me with his hands in his pockets. I place my feet on the carpet and stand.

I follow him upstairs, keeping my footsteps careful and noiseless. I'm not so brave anymore. I care now. And I don't want to fight.

In his room, Edward doesn't bother to flip the light on. His room is warm, like home. I'm surrounded by the smell of our secret … a darkness that keeps us hidden. I close the door and lock it, though. Everyone just left, but I don't know how long they'll be gone. And they will be back. Edward and I don't have all night like we usually do.

My boy steps out of his shoes with his back toward me. He takes his undershirt off next. He's unbuckling his belt when he finally decides to turn and give me his eyes.

One, two, three steps is all it takes, then he's with me. His lips are so fucking soft … so soft and hot, and I just melt.

Edward wraps me in his arms and carefully lowers me onto the bed, climbing between my legs. I willingly open them wider, letting him be closer. It's a slow-hurry; his lips move slowly, but his hands take my shirt off hurriedly.

The air conditioner kicks on, swirling cold air with warm breath, making it a little easier to breathe.

This is how we handle things—how we connect and say sorry. Because I forgave him for whatever the moment he touched me.

Edward reaches under me, unhooking my strapless bra. I curl my hands under the hem of his shirt and pull, toss and moan when he presses our bare chests together. His lips are sugar sweet and feather soft, slowly touching the side of my neck. I close my eyes and curve into him, begging with my body.

He doesn't leave marks this time. Or use his teeth. It's all mouth and tongue and whispers so low I can't make out his words.

Then he's up on his knees, slipping his fingers into my sweats, pulling them down my legs. I kick them off my feet and sit up on my elbows.

Edward's eyes match the room: dark and full of feeling. His skin is warm, and when I reach for his wrist, wrapping my fingers around until I find his pulse, it's racing.

"Calm down," I whisper. I sit up, circling my arms around his neck. "Calm."

His entire frame is shaking: his arms, his shoulders, his chin … his eyes. "I can't."

He trying to be soft, like he was just a moment ago. He tries to kiss my lips slowly, but it hurts. He's too desperate … too in need. His movements are unintentionally harsh. He doesn't concentrate on one place for too long: first my lips, them my throat, my chest … he kisses my arms.

He's hard under his slacks, pushing it against me sometimes.

His grip is too tight. His kisses are too strong. His heart-pulse is too quick, and his breathing is too demanding. I bite my lip, giving him what he needs—surrendering my body to this; to his too tense touch. But the hold he has on my arm is too much. My fingers start to tingle from loss of blood flow.

"Edward," I whisper, kissing the side of his face while he kisses the side of my throat. "Edward." But he doesn't move … he doesn't hear me.

With the arm he isn't constricting, I push on his chest. "Edward," I say louder.

He doesn't say anything, but he stops kissing me and his unsmooth breathing is beside my ear. He's defensive, like he's waiting for something. Like he's waiting for a blow.

I smile instead, pushing until he rolls over onto his back. He doesn't let go of my arm, though. So as I climb over him, straddling his lower stomach, I carefully pull his fingers back.

"Let me,"I say. I move his arms above his head. "Keep these here."

"Bella," he whimpers.

I lean in, with my lips above his lips. "Shh."

I slide down his body; deep-black eyes stay on mine. His belt is already open, so I only have to unbutton his pants and unzip the zipper. I reach in and wrap my hand around him. His eyes close; his chest rumbles.

I touch him for a minute, just to let him know I'm here. When he's good and lost, I stop and pull his pants down to his knees. I slip off the bed and step out of my underwear.

I climb back on top of him. His hands go to my hips.

Edward's eyes swim. His hands still shake.

I reach between us and wrap my hand around him again. I push his length flat against his pelvis before lowering down. He's not in me, but against me, between my folds and against my clit.

Then I slowly circle my hips, placing my hands over his.

Slow, slow, slow.

Steady, steady, steady.

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and rock. Cold air is still blowing from the vent above the bed, hardening my nipples and cooling warm skin, giving me goosebumps.

Edward shifts under me, holding my hips harder. His fingers dig and his eyes close.

"Show me, Edward," I say lowly. "Show me how to do it."

He rolls me over, pushing my legs open with a hand on my knee. When I'm wide enough, he handles his cock, slowly gliding his tip where I hurt for him so sweetly. He rounds at my opening, teasing me. And I want it. Even though I know it's wrong. I want him there … in me.

I hold onto his biceps and arch and moan and spread wider. He pushes in and curves more into me.

"You'd let me?" he asks. His voice is rough, thick.

I don't answer. He pushes in more, giving just a little more than the tip.

"Why? Because you think this is how I want it?" I open my eyes and try to find my boy in his face. It's hard, but he's there … behind _her._ Dusty is in the freckles on his nose and the small ring of blue around black.

Edward is in his unmoving hips, no longer pushing, because he knows.

He pulls out and pushes against me like I had him before he rolled me over: between and against. His thrusts are hard and strong, with his hands gripped into bedsheets beside my head, powerful with frustration and denied need.

"I don't want you partway, baby," he moans. "I want all of you, Bella."

I give up and give in; tears slide down my eyes into my hair. "You have me. Please, please—"

I clutch onto his moving hips, falling into tingles and explosions and constricted muscles and stuck voices. I move with him, rocking while I come. My voice and heavy breaths fill the room, fill our ears. He leans in, hovering hips lips over my open, moaning mouth, taking my air as I exhale.

Just as I'm coming down, unreeling and soaring, he whispers, "If that were true, you would have already said yes."


	24. Pale Blue Eyes

**We do not own Twilight. This is the soundtrack to Dusty's life. **

**All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer, Kid Cudi, The Velvet Underground, Alison Mosshart and Jamie Hince, Taking Back Sunday, Third Eye Blind, The Ataris, Hellogoodbye, and Silverchair.**

**KKbaby is my blue heaven. I love you both.**

**Thank you guys for reading.**

**The Kills cover of Pale Blue Eyes: **_Sometimes I feel so happy. Sometimes I feel so sad. Sometimes I feel so happy, but mostly you just make me mad._

_Baby, you just make me mad._

**Chapter Twenty Three – Baby**

"Sweet, sweet Jesus..." Alice's bottom jaw is slack. She can't even close her mouth. Her sunglasses are 1970s huge and the lenses are dark, dark brown, but I know she's staring. She can't help it. It's taking effort on my part to not stare, too.

I laugh under my breath and look down at my feet, then back to my side when she lifts her candy necklace. She gets it halfway to her lips before she stops; she's staring so hard she actually just forgot what she was doing.

"Seriously?" I almost snort. Sitting up a little straighter on the bottom back porch step we're sharing, I nudge her shoulder. "Earth to all gawking Martians."

Alice catches her balance and leans her elbows behind her on the cement stairs. The cast on her wrist is sturdy-solid and baby pink, just like her hair. "Go ahead," she dares me, her smile taunting and totally disbelieving. "Act like you don't see it."

I grin higher and look down again. My toenails are peaches and cream pink, and my feet are bare on the sidewalk. We're sitting in the shade, but it's the end of August and the hottest day ever. The concrete doesn't burn, but it's warm under my feet, and I can smell charcoal fires and just-cut grass in the breeze. I hear Mariachi music from a few houses down. Robins chirping to each other above our heads and across from us, I hear panted-chuckling and shoe-shuffling.

"No, I'm serious," she continues. "Tell me this isn't the hottest thing you've ever seen."

I roll my eyes and unbind my hair from my ponytail so I can pull it higher, off the back of my neck and onto the top of my head. "They're just boys," I remind her.

"Lies," she declares. "He looks so damn good today and you know it. I know you know it."

I shake my head as I look up, but my smile stays. Across from us, Garrett jumps and blocks Paul's lay-up, sending the basketball across the driveway toward Jasper. It bounces once before it's in his hands.

Trash-talk and easy laughs fly in front of the Hale's garage hoop. Jasper's brother is here for the summer, and some other boys from their neighborhood are hanging out too. Alice takes a bite of her necklace, and I lean back onto my arms. We've been watching them play for about an hour now, and she's right; he does look good.

I've known Garrett just as long as Edward, but I've only ever considered him as a comparison. I've never let myself really look at him just for him.

He turns to watch Jasper's shot and his back is to me. His gray tee-shirt isn't really tight, but I can see his shoulder blades stretched under the material.

And I like how they look.

It can't have happened over night. Shoulders don't broaden and jaws don't square in the blink of an eye, but when Alice and I pulled up today, and I saw him turning and reaching and playing in the sun, that's exactly what it was like.

_Bam. _

_Garrett isn't just an alternative to my boy, he _ is_ a boy. _

I turn to my left, watching the neighbors' two pit bull puppies chase each other in circles. I hear high-fives in the driveway and Garrett's upbeat deep laugh. I don't look, but I can see his grin and the smile lines around the corners of his eyes in my mind.

My brain says it's okay.

My heart says no way.

"Have you finished your paper yet?" I ask, changing the subject.

Alice shrugs. "Kind of," she says, which means she probably hasn't even started. Not that I have room to talk. I've known about it all summer too, everyone in our upcoming English class has, but I only just picked a book last week. "The whole idea of summer homework is twisted. This is supposed to be our vacation."

I nod and straighten my legs out, stretching my toes toward the grass. Behind my sunglasses, I look from my best friend to the boys across from us.

"What book did you choose?" she asks.

The game pauses for drinks of water. Jasper holds the ball between the inside of his forearm and his hip. Garrett lifts the front of his tee-shirt up to wipe sweat from his face. His stomach looks smooth and strong, and there are these two little dips, like muscle lines...

I brush my hands down the front of my sun dress and look back to Alice. "Catcher in the Rye."

She's not even trying to hide her ogling at this point.

Laughing, I give her candy necklace a light pull. "What about you?"

"1984. Julia is a bad ass motherfucker." She's further ahead on her assignment than I am. I haven't even started reading.

We both look over at the sound of the ball hitting the concrete again. The game is back on and the ice-cream man is ringing his bell down the street.

"C'mon," Ally says, poking my side. "I'll buy you a choco-taco."

I brush my hands off as I stand and step into my flip-flops. My phone vibrates in my dress pocket on our way to the edge of the yard. The boys aren't paying any attention, but I smile as we pass anyways. I can't really help it.

When I check my phone, there's one new message from Dusty.

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone._

I smile a little higher as I follow Alice toward the frozen-treat truck.

_And this house just ain't no home, anytime she goes away,_ I text him back.

Alice pays the driver-man and when we're on the bottom step of Jasper's back porch again, I share my fast-melting ice-cream with her between texts.

_Do you remember when you showed me the Reese's Pieces_ _piece on your tongue? And told me I could have it if I still wanted it?_

My heart does that thing where it swells fuller feeling. I feel its beat in my eardrums and press my lips together to contain my smile.

_Of course I do,_ I tell him.

Jasper's brother passes Garrett the ball. Alice whistles.

_I wanted to kiss you so badly_, Edward says.

The words wake tummy butterflies I've missed for I don't even know how long. Reason and purpose swim through my veins and fill my chest. My phone vibrates again before I can form a response.

_I loved you then_, he tells me.

My butterflies fly crazy. Love is suddenly all-consuming and so-surrounding, and I wonder what he's doing, where he is, and what has him thinking about forever-ago-us.

_I miss you,_ I text him back. _Stay in with me tonight?_

A few minutes pass before my phone vibrates again.

_After the game. Are you coming?_

I glance up from my screen to Alice next to me, and the boys across from us, and back to her. She pulls baby-bright pink over her shoulder and feeds me the last melty bite of choco-taco. Her smile is easy-happy-go-lucky-free. We weren't planning on going to watch Edward and his friends play, but I had kind of wanted to. And now I sort of really want to.

I look back down to my phone. _Let me talk to Alice about it._

A few more minutes pass.

_You can come on your own , as my girlfriend. I can come get you._

Guilt and nervousness pinch my heart while longing-love pulls at it. My instincts split me in half and fight against each other. Half of me naturally shrinks from the hurt I know being with Edward constantly brings. The other half of me doesn't even recognize fear. Logic and apprehension don't register in my soul. All that it knows is that we're meant to be. What's simple is true and is everything.

_I'll be there_, I tell him, adding _I love you_, before sliding my phone back into my dress pocket. The boys across from us have stopped playing and are talking about heading in. Jasper's mom wants both her boys to stay home for dinner and family stuff since his brother is leaving tomorrow.

Tap-tip-tapping my feet on the warm concrete, I look over at Ally and think about my words before I choose them. "Don't Edward and Pete have a game tonight?"

Alice nods. Her facial expression doesn't noticeably change, but I wish I could see her blue skies behind her shades. "Yeah, at eight."

I play aloof and look from the boys of summer to the neighbor's back yard. The darker of the two brindle-brown puppies tackles the other one; both of their tails wag. I think about asking if she wants to go, if we don't have anything better to do, but she beats me to it.

"C'mon," Ally says, standing up. "Let's say bye and we can go home and change."

The sun is just starting to set when we get to her house. I trade my dress for one of her white v-necks and pull on neon purple short-shorts.

My girl doesn't change a thing.

And even in the shade, she shines.

.

.

.

I'm sitting in first hour, kind of, sort of listening to Mr. Burke talk about the fundamentals of chemistry, but I'm mostly thinking about how the last week of summer went by way too fast.

I spent the night at the Cullens' after Edward's game Saturday night. True to his word, he stayed in too, but we were both so all day in the heat exhausted that we slept more than we talked or touched lips. His alarm went off and we had to separate again before what felt like even a blink.

Alice took me home a little after noon on Sunday. Not because my mom had said so, in fact she was sort of surprised I was home somewhat early, but I had to get started on my reading. Summer homework is totally unfair, but it had to be done.

On Monday, I read outside in the back and soaked up morning sunshine until it was too hot to take anymore. Mom and I played rummy over lunch and painted our toes on the living room floor, and I read some more after dinner. After I said goodnight and changed into pajamas, I crawled into bed and called my boy.

He answered just as he was parking in Pete's driveway, and stayed on the phone with me for almost an hour.

"I wish you could come over," I sighed, curling into a ball. "I want you here with me."

"Just say the word, B."

I could hear the ready-and-willingness in his voice, subtle like the start of a smile. Then the spark of a lighter. A deep breath in and a steady exhale. I closed my eyes and I could picture his lips around the end of a just-lit joint.

"I can't," I whispered, curling a little tighter in the center of my bed as down-low tingles started to tickle inside. "My dad's out on a call. Mom won't leave the couch 'til he's home safe."

On the other end of the phone, Edward blew out another hit. I could hear wind rustling through trees and the faint sound of bass thumping in the background. I could see him, leaned back in the driver's seat of the Lincoln with his eyes closed too.

I remember loving that he answered. I loved the strength in his voice and the sound of desire equal to my own in his tone.

"You know I'll come to you," he tempted and assured. "Right now if you want."

"I know." I smiled through the sweet deep twisting feeling under my unders. I stretched my legs out straight and pressed my free hand down my stomach to the very bottom of my belly, where my tickle-tingles were slowly tying themselves into needy knots.

I loved knowing it didn't matter whether my mom or both my parents were awake and here. I loved knowing that if I asked, he would come for me.

"I just want you," I whispered, bringing my legs back up, tracing the top of my pajama bottoms. "I miss you, and it's been so long... I just..."

The sound of smoke and breath and Edward's chuckle sharpened my missing and made my wanting start to burn. I heard him pull another hit and blow it out slowly, and behind my eyelids, I could see him grinning.

"You just what, baby?"

I sit back in my desk two rows from the back of the classroom and trace my lips with the backs of my fingers. I breathe out and concentrate on keeping my cool, but I feel my cheeks blush warm, warm, warm pink.

I blushed then too, when Edward asked me. I wound the drawstring of my pants around and around my fingers, and pulled, and pressed the heel of my hand against myself, over the material.

"I just... I want," I told him so quietly, lighter than a whisper.

And the lighter my voice lilted, the lower his dropped.

"What do you want, Bliss?"

I swallow hard and glance around the class. I cross my legs under my desk and blink slowly, remembering how I couldn't even make words to answer him. How I hummed and pressed harder with my hand, and how my body craved him so much.

"What do you want more than anything in the world right now?" His smoke-shaded, deep-dropped voice wrapped around me, and I hummed again, louder, more desperate.

"You," I whispered, lighter than breath, turning my face into my pillows, rocking against my palm. "I want you."

Lust-lush memories of whispering and wanting are interrupted when the lights are flipped out and a power-point is turned on. I breathe out and push my fingers through my loosely curled hair, clearing inappropriate passion from my thoughts as best as I can. While Mr. Burke goes on about elements like building blocks, I try to focus on anything except how completely crazy I am lately to be touched.

Tuesday was a lot like Monday. I spent the morning reading in the sun again, and Mom and I went out for lunch. She said yes when Ally texted and asked if I could spend the night, which I did, but more of the night was spent at La Push than it was at her house.

We splashed and swam, and drank summer brew, and I danced with Alice under the full-moon light. Jasper and Paul piled driftwood together, and Garrett set fire to it. Leah passed around a bag of marshmallows, but my best friend and I were too tipsy-giggly to properly toast a single one. Ally burned both of hers black because she couldn't keep them out of the fire, and mine were taking forever because I was being overly careful about the flames.

Garrett, though, can toast a perfect mallow. The first one he roasted for me was deliciously crispy golden and so incomparably sweet-soft in the middle, I couldn't resist three more.

He's so good. Not just a good guy or a good friend, but a truly and genuinely good person. And the more time we spend together, the more I open my eyes and mind to him as a real, whole person, the more in common I find between us. He likes Ringo best of all the Beatles too, and just like me, he's the one and only miracle child after years of tearful trying and hoping and miscarrying. Eggs bother his stomach no matter how they're cooked , and I also found out, over the last red solo-cup of Pabst, Absolut and lemonade, that he read Catcher in the Rye this summer too.

As he took a drink and passed the cup back to me, I open-mouth grinned and turned to face him a little more. "No way, me too! Have you written your paper yet?"

Garrett nodded, his perfect smile easy and effortless on his lips. The fire crarckled across from us and flecked sparks toward the night sky that made his dark eyes glint bright. "Yeah, have you?"

I shook my head. "I just finished the book today, and I tried to start writing, but my brain is sort of stuck in summer vacation mode, y'know? Like, I get the assignment and I know I can do it, I'm just having trouble making myself focus."

He nodded again. I took a drink and passed the cup back to his right hand. "Well, you've got a few more days. Do you have any idea what you want to say?"

I shrugged. I had somewhat of an idea, but when I thought about it, the words I spoke next were on my lips without a second of hesitation, equal parts purely honest and hopeful.

"Would you want to come over sometime this week and talk about it? Like, compare notes and stuff?"

The fire crackle-sparked higher, making Garrett's smile-lit eyes glow even brighter. "Yeah," he said. "Your parents would be okay with that?"

At my desk in the dimly lit chemistry classroom, I roll my eyes and smile unbelievingly to myself.

Not only did Mom say yes when I got home the next day, but she was more than okay with Garrett coming over the day after that. In fact, I'm pretty positive she _liked_ that I had this boy over to do homework with, because she showed it by giving me more privacy and respect than I could have imagined. She kept mostly to herself outside in the garden while we sat at the kitchen table, and when he left, she didn't do any smothering or say anything silly. She just smiled her warmest, most beautiful smile and told him he was more than welcome back, anytime.

I press my lips together and try to focus on the periodic table of elements, but inside I'm wondering. I remember her tears and love on his birthday, but I can't forget the sound of _no_ in her voice when I asked to go to Prom. Mom's never said she doesn't like Edward, or that she thinks he's bad. And she's told him more than once he's always welcome too, but it's just different. Even though I know she has no reason to trust Edward less than Garrett or any other boy, I know that she does. She doesn't have to say it out loud. She'd never consciously leave Edward and I in the house alone. I know it.

Which makes me worry that maybe she notices more than I realize.

The bell catches me and Mr. Burke off guard . Over the sudden packing-up conversation, he tries to tell us to read chapters one and two for Wednesday, but I'm fairly sure only half the class hears him. I gather my binder and text book to my chest and stand carefully on my half-asleep feet, smoothing out the bottom of my orange sherbet coloured miniskirt.

I look for Ally in the hallway, but don't hold out too much hope of actually seeing her. We don't have even one class together this semester. We're on the same floor for lunch break later, but that's still another two hours away.

My cream-white and cork-light wedges clap, clap, clap along the linoleum tiles as I walk, scanning the backs of heads around me. I spy Ben at the end of the hall, leaning against the rail at the bottom of the stairwell. He's flirting with Janey, the faux-hawked and pierced-nose pretty punk exchange student girl from Naples. Vic and Mixie hang back, nearby but uninvolved. My boy is nowhere in sight.

I wish he was.

I want him.

I need to feel his touch, even just his closeness.

Even just a fraction of half a glance, no matter how tenuous and insubstantial.

Squaring my shoulders, I toss my hair over them and push the sleeves of my sheer-thin cardigan up. Ben shoots me a smile and offers a low-five as I pass. His hand is baseball boy-calloused and familiar-warm.

"Morning, princess baby," he says with a grin that's one hundred percent playful.

"Morning, punkass," I say with a smile back. I take the first step of two flights of stairs toward American history.

One row from the back, all the way to the left of the classroom, I sit down where Leah and Lauren are waiting. We talk until the bell rings and Mrs. Genessee starts passing out books. I pay attention for a little bit. I scribble a few notes on the syllabus she hands out next, but it doesn't take too long for my attention to drift.

It's not wholly or solely my fault I'm so sleepy daydreamy and easily distracted today. Edward and I were on the phone until after almost two this morning.

He was sort of fast-talking and subject-jumping, but I didn't mind. It's like getting a kind of glimpse into where he is inside.

He mentioned Pete's birthday next week and how his best friend's mom has been worse lately. He wants to do something for him, something big. He started to say something about Mix, but his mom knocked on his door. Not for anything important, just to say goodnight, but when she did his train of thought switched tracks.

Edward sniffed. "She keeps printing out all these admissions applications and leaving them on my desk."

"She just loves you," I told him, staring up at my ceiling in the mostly dark. "She wants what's best for you."

Edward didn't miss even half a beat.

"You're what's best for me," he said, irrefutable truth undeniably ardent in his words.

My smile curved without a second thought. "So let's do this together," I offered, stretching my free hand out across my blankets, toward my pillows and up into my hair. "Where do you want to go?"

Edward's response was quick, not upset, but definitely weary. "I don't know, Bliss. When can I see you again?"

On my back in my bed, under my covers and wishing they were his arms, his weight, I sighed. And shrugged. And closed my eyes. "I don't know. Tomorrow's the first day of school..."

"No. When can I really see you?"

I cross my left leg over my right under my desk and glance at the clock, trying to concentrate on required reading and upcoming projects, but all I can think about is how strained Edward's voice sounded. Not like he was weak or sick, but involuntarily needful, like what he was asking for was uncontrollable, unavoidable and uneasily inherent.

My heart beats harder with the force of true love and my butterflies break out brass knuckles. I exhale a long, slow breath through my nose and press my legs tighter together, and I think maybe it's not just me.

_Maybe we're both too little for this love._

_Maybe we're both too young, too clumsy for it._

_Maybe neither one of us know how to hold this love yet._

I breathe in slowly, concentrating on the feel of recycled paper and new pencil scented air filling my lungs.

_But what are we supposed to do? Give it up? _

I let the breath in my chest out just as the bell rings. Leah and Lauren head left as we walk out of the room and I sort of shuffle-stop, thinking for a second. French is one floor up, but the text book I just gained is heavy and I don't really want to lug it around any more than I have to. So, I make my way as gracefully-quickly as I can in my wedges, down the stairs to my locker. I slide my history book onto the shelf, and when I look down before closing the metal door, my heart does a shimmy-shimmy-quarter turn.

Glancing left and right, I make sure none of my friends are approaching before bending discreetly to pick up the folded piece of notebook paper.

_To live this way is not for the meek._

I blink slowly. I breathe in.

_I want you._

My heart beats and I feel it full in every corner of my ribcage. I taste it in my throat. I look left and right again, searching the hall for love.

I want his mouth on my mouth.

I want to kiss him until neither one of us can breathe.

But he's nowhere to be found.

So I hold onto hope that I'll see him at lunch and I refold my note, pressing it into my history book. I breathe out through my twisting tingles and head back up the stairs, into French class without even a shiver of hesitation. Inside, I'm spinning-high on love, wound so tightly up in loving that not even Victoria can pull me down.

"Hey, baby sister!" She greets with a smile, waving as she gives me the twice-over. "Holy shit, look at your legs. Have you seen your legs, Bliss?"

I'd still kind of like it if she just disappeared altogether, but her backhanded compliments don't go through today. The love I'm high on feels sort of strengthened by my wanting. Her words don't even make contact.

One row up and to her left, Rosie sits with her back to Victoria. Her brows are drawn together in irritation, but her eyes are happy. I glance back to Vic and nod like _yep, these are my legs._

"It's still just Bella," I remind her.

I even smile a little, sort of sympathetically. Victoria's a lot of things, but she doesn't have shit on me or the whore I'm tied for first in Edward's life with. And it must be truly hard to be his third choice.

I literally can't imagine it.

So, I turn around and sit down next to Rose. Behind plastic white framed glasses, she rolls her eyes playfully and I shrug, setting my notebook down. On her desk, she has a Rainbow Brite folder with _Fuck Rick Santorum_ written in sharpie over Starlite's mane. I smile truly genuine. "How was your summer, belle fille-bebe?"

Her pupils might as well turn into cartoon hearts for the way she melts before she answers. "J'ai trouvee l'ame soeur de mon coeur."

_I have found my heart's soul mate._

I smile higher, lips parted, eyes squinted; I smile so high. "Dites-moi tout!" I demand, tapping her desk excitedly with both hands.

_Tell me everything!_

"Ummm, he lives in Brooklyn. We met when I stayed with my grandparents in July. He plays bass in this band, and he's Buddhist, and he looks so good with his hat on backwards, and he's into the movement, and... and... He's freaking intergalactic, Bliss." She beams while she talks about him, so brightly my heart flutters twitterpated for her.

Madam Shaw walks in from the hall just as the bell rings. "Quel est son nom?" I whisper.

_What's his name?_

Rose parts her peachy-pink glossed lips to tell me, but our teacher speaks first, greeting us en francais. Our true-love conversation ceases. It's such a small class that I have no choice really, except to pay attention.

She passes out books and we shift our desks into a sort of semicircle shape for easier discussion. In French, she asks us about our summer vacations and when it's my turn, I talk about Holden Caulfield and dying my best friend's hair pink. Victoria goes on about the beach and her friends and _vivre fous_, and her words flow like she practiced for this.

_Living crazy – she has no idea._

Rose talks about staying with her grandparents, but doesn't mention her heart's newfound partner.

Love exists quietly, secret from the vindictive world and safe between friends.

Halfway through class, we break for lunch. When Rose and I get to the hallway, other rooms are emptying out too, but I spot pastel-pink Ally-Pally immediately.

"Could this day drag on any longer?" She groans dramatically.

"Tell me about it." I curl my fingers between hers and we walk two floors down to the cafeteria hand in hand. The closer we get, I smell baked hash brown bites and cinnamon rolls. It's conversation-busy and laughter-loud when we turn the corner into the table-lined room.

The three of us wait in line together and Alice tells me about killing her 1984 presentation. "In a really good way," she clarifies. "Revolution is in my bones. I'm pretty sure I'm going to get an A." She grabs a carton of chocolate milk while I take a white, and Rose has an orange. I look around as we walk through the crowded room again, but not really. I compared Edward's schedule to mine last week. I know if he's here, he doesn't have lunch for another fifteen minutes.

We make our way to the far stairwell that leads to the commons. On the second step from the bottom, we sit down to face all the other students; Alice, then me in the middle and Rose on my right. It's one of those moments where I feel like I fit. Like, we're each so different, but we fit together. Right here.

A cotton-candy knockout, a strawberry sundae sweetheart, and a vanilla soft-serve misfit. We are the youth. And we live in a world where innocence is so short.

I don't ever want to forget feeling this. Being this.

Keeping my knees pressed together, I stretch my legs out and relax into the moment with my friends. Rose tells Alice about her _petit-ami-amant,_ and Ally shows us the purple Tyrannosaurus Rex Garrett drew on her cast. I smile and drink my milk, tapping the tops of my wedges together. I sort of lose track of time, but glance over just as two more classes start to file down the stairs across from us.

Something inside me recognizes love's proximity even before my eyes see him. My butterflies beat harder against my ribcage, and in the same second, at the top of the steps, I see his black on black Converse, bare ankles and knees just under brand-new-black cutoffs. He has on Pete's Motion City Soundtrack tee-shirt and his most defiant smirk.

The cafeteria between us is crowded with around a hundred or so other kids, but Edward doesn't give a single fuck. He seeks and lets our eyes find, and curves his smirk into a smile.

I look away first. I have to. He's been around, but I haven't seen him in a week and the look he just shot me with feels like it actually _shot_ me. My blood courses like tingle-bubbling champagne in my veins, and I have to resist every twisting instinct to run, and jump up, and wrap my arms and legs around him.

Blinking and breathing in deeply, I realize my fingertips are absently touching my bottom lip. So, I push my hand through my hair and blow my breath out.

I just want to kiss him.

I want his teeth and lips on my open lips.

I want to taste his kiss on my tongue so much.

It's not fair to want him as heavily and heart-throbbingly as I do. I can only barely contain it.

And it only burns stronger when I blink again and take in the whole picture, and see that he's walking next to Ben, and they're heading for a table full of people including Jess and Victoria.

She says his name and my heart stings when he looks at her. He low-fives Jake and stands next to the table of seniors. He's all instigating grins and rebellious black, and I try not to watch. I try to keep my focus on my ankles and my attention on what Rose is saying, but I can't help it. I can feel it every time Edward looks at me.

I glance up, scanning the entire room before I meet his troublemaking dark for just a second.

_I dare you_, his look says. _Come over here. Come be my girl._

My cheeks tingle warm and I give my eyes back to my friends, trying so hard to avoid blushing. I want to go to him. My legs tremble inside to stand and walk, but I can't. Nothing about this is that easy. He makes this next to impossible.

_You come to me_, I think and want, and wish so hard when I peek up again a few minutes later, once I have my butterflies straitjacketed. _Be good to me. Be only mine._

The left side of his grin digs a little higher into his cheek. He licks his lips quickly before he looks back to his friends.

We both feel it, but neither one of us budges. I have to stand up when my friends do and leave empty handed. I try to meet his eyes one more time before I turn around, but he doesn't lift his.

Love is so hard to resist.

Love is stubborn, up in arms and too far from fair.

Love is forcing myself against everything inside me that says to look over my shoulder. To try one more time. Love is returning to the third floor starving for skin to skin contact and heart to soul connectedness.

And the longer I'm back in French class, the less discussion we have and the more Madame Shaw lectures. I follow along in my textbook, but all I can think about is trouble.

The cool confidence I entered the classroom with the first time, after I'd just read his note is slipping. Victoria returned from lunch five minutes later than Rose and I, and I hate not knowing what happened after I left. I hate that way she gets him. I hate when he talks to her. I hate that he can even look at her when I'm in the same room, twenty-something feet away, unable to think about anything other than how badly I want him.

I try to shake it off.

I remind myself that we're stronger than all these struggles. I concentrate on knowing we're bound and nothing can change that, but it's difficult.

Closing my eyes for just a second, I feel out my yearning, the wanting deep inside me that's gone without affection far too long. When I open my eyes to my French text once more, I want his mouth on mine again, but it's different this time. My want is stronger, reckless and irrevocable feeling.

I want to kiss him until he feels it too, until he loses control.

I want him unchecked and impulsive. All instinct. I want the side he keeps from me.

The greedy-in-need knots in my stomach tingle tighter. Every part of me, from the corners of my craving lips to the tips of my fidgeting fingers, wants his touch. Every part of me tremble-aches to touch him and ease the strain of necessary separation.

I swallow hard and push it down, just like heart-stings when he doesn't answer his phone and unease when he's gone too long. Like the guilt that burns when I see how good Garrett looks, and the shame that twists when I lie to my best friend. Like the repugnance I feel toward cocaine, and the fear that cuts my stomach open every time I remember how far from eighteen I am, and how badly my boy wants out.

I push my tingles the same place I push every smile I can't shape when he looks at me in a room full of people. The same place I force every urge to squeak with crazy joy anytime he leaves me a note or texts me good morning first.

It's all part of the same everything. It all gets swallowed down and carried in scrupulous secrecy that neither remits nor relents, ever.

After French, I say goodbye to Rose before heading downstairs to leave my books in my locker. Sociology is my last class of the day and I sit down in the back with Jasper, pushing my hand through my still slightly curled hair while I push my wishful wanting hunger down, down, down.

Almost twenty minutes into reading requirements and extra credit projects, Miss Carson is holding most all of my attention when my skirt pocket vibrates. I swallow to keep my butterflies from reaching for hope, and nonchalantly, carefully-sneaky as I can, I slide my thumb across my phone screen under my desk.

_Come out here, princess pie._

I breathe out slowly through my nose. I don't respond. I return my phone to my pocket and try to think through all the inclination and instinct suddenly swirling faster though me.

I ditched my share of classes last year and had my best, and most scholastic intentions in mind as this year approached. And I know it's the first day, and that bailing doesn't exactly bolster my scholarly muscles.

And I _know_ the boy waiting for me right now is a self-indulgent monster.

I know.

But knowing doesn't allay my yearning or lessen the pull I feel toward the hallway. Knowing doesn't stop me from closing my notebook and slowly raising my left hand up by my ear.

"Isabella?" Miss Carson asks. She meets my most unimpeachable look.

"May I be excused?" I ask quietly, pointing toward the door.

When she nods, I stand up straight and walk back, behind everyone's desks. I leave my notebook so it looks like I'm just going to the bathroom and turn the heavy metal handle without hesitation when I reach the door.

As I close it behind me, my heart beats a strung out frenzy in my chest, and I glance down the left side of the hall. I look right when I don't see my reason, and my pulse makes it hard to breathe. I look left again just in time to see him turn the corner.

His hair is summertime overgrown and hand-pushed back. When I land my clear eyes on his storm, I see Edward, seeing only me.

I all but sprint to him.

He smiles love-high and takes a long quick stride for every two of my wedge-steps. "Don't fall, baby."

"Don't let me," I tell him, smiling so high too, reaching for his hand the second we're close enough. He interlocks our fingers, warm and tight and right, and kisses the top of my head.

The moment we're connected, nothing else matters.

I walk faster to keep up with my boy's pace. A step ahead, but still beside me, he leads us down a back set of stairs, toward the basement. My heartbeats and butterflies race. I don't know how he knows where he's going, but his hand around mine feels magnetic. I'd follow him anywhere.

The basement hallway he leads me through is dimly lit with old fluorescent lights that shine half-burned out. Every step forward is somewhere sort of dark and totally new. I tighten my grip and pull myself closer. Edward glances over his shoulder at me. His eyes glint unvarnished truth and his lips are playfully shaped. "You scared, baby Bliss?"

I shake my head and hold his look for a few steps. I feel confidence curl into my cheeks. "No." I smile.

Edward squeezes my hand and we turn left. Within a few more steps, he opens a door, leading us into a pitch dark room that smells like rust and machine heat and years of abandonment.

"Where..." I start to ask, but stop when he flips a switch behind us that flickers yellow-orange bulbs on over our heads. Their glow is dust hindered and they're so old, I can faintly hear them buzzing as they strive to function. There's a furnace in the corner and boxes piled high against the wall to our left, but I don't see much more before I hear the door close behind us and turn toward Edward.

Hand still wrapped around mine, he tugs me closer and I take two steps forward so we're face to face, save for the few inches of height he always has on me.

"Hi, girl," he says quietly. Edward looks right at me like I'm the only one in the world.

I bring my hand that's not in his to his side and take another step closer, basking in how found I feel in his darkness, how seen and known and wanted I am.

"Hi, boy," I murmur back, licking my lips.

He smiles higher before bending his face over my own and touching his grin to mine. I open my mouth a little more, and so does he. He kisses me like all I've thought about all day, like all I've wanted for more than seven days, and my heart goes crazy. I can't breathe when he parts our lips to let me. I can't get enough air, and all I want is more love.

We hum and melt, and bend and move together. We pull strings and push buttons. We cause and effect, reacting naturally and reforming ourselves as one. Singular. Whole and sufficient only this way.

We turn and stumble, but don't fall. We lean into and depend solely and supremely on one another, and we kiss like we can't stop. We kiss until I'm tugging at his clothes and making give-me-air noises against his lips, until he grabs the backs of my thighs and picks me up, and pins me to a wall I didn't even know we were near.

We inhale fast and deep when our kiss breaks. Edward doesn't stop. He connects his lips to my jaw and kisses down my neck, pushing my shirt and bra strap out of the way to kiss my shoulder. I pull more breaths in and lean my head back, arching and offering my chest for more of his kisses and wrap my legs tighter around him. My skirt bunches and my shirt rides up, and his belt buckle digs into the bottom of my stomach, making me whimper.

He shifts his footing, adjusting his stance and my hips before pushing forward, pressing himself against me. A so grateful moan replaces my smaller sounds and all my muscles quake and weaken at the feel of how hard he is.

"Hold on," he whispers, sliding his hands from my bottom to the backs of my knees, helping me secure my grasp. "Hold onto me, baby."

I cross my ankles behind his back and squeeze with my legs, nodding my head. I tilt my neck and seek his lips again, and kiss him desperately deep and wildly wanting while he builds a rhythm between our hips that increases and concentrates.

Love heightens and ignites.

Love intensifies times ten.

Hundred.

Thousand.

Love rocks beautifully built and unyieldingly hard between my legs. Tell-tale glitter-tingles light up behind my eyelids and my cheeks burn. My stomach tight, tight, tightens and I start to lose control. I grip onto Edward's shoulders, moving my hips intentionally in time with his.

I feel his grin against my neck skin. "Right here?" He asks low-pitched and short of breath, rubbing his length harder against my tingle-aching need. "Just like this?"

I nod quickly, holding on while he makes the room spin. He rocks harder and I can feel him so well, and I'm dizzy-drunk dipping so close to starry-brightness.

"I've wanted you all day," he whisper-breathes, pouty lips brushing my lips as he moves. "I woke up thinking about you... all morning... about what you were going to wear, and how I couldn't wait to see your pretty fucking knees..."

My eyelids clench shut tighter and I feel my butterflies flutter into a tailspin while Edward whispers lower and forces more delicious pressure right where I need him most.

"I thought about you on your knees, Bliss," he tells me almost silently. "I thought about giving you my cock."

I clutch onto his shoulders so desperately that white-hot pain pierces my knuckles the same time heavenly hot ecstasy breaks open inside me. I come in shiver-shaking waves of exultant and so-needed joy, smiling from ear to ringing ear as Edward helps me ride it out.

He slows, but doesn't still and presses kisses along my blushing cheek and next to my blinking-to-focus eyelids. My breathing has only just barely began to relax when his smile parts and he speaks again.

"You know this skirt is fucking killing me today, don't you? You know how fucking insane you make me?"

I grin higher, easing my death-grip on his shoulders so I can slide my hands up his neck, into his hair. "Maybe," I breathe out, shy and sort of hopeful, and kind of like I know. "Maybe..."

"Maybe?" He echoes, watching my eyes, his left brow raised curiously.

I drag my right hand from the back of his head down his chest, reaching between us, still tickle-tingling for more. "Show me," I whisper. Touching his belt buckle, I pull.

Edward chuckles, shaking his head and catching my hand.

Unwelcome frustration flares up my backbone instantly. "Show me," I say, more than a whisper this time, pulling against his grip to reach for him again.

His laugh is darker, menacing undertones and more threatening than warning. "Don't push me, little girl."

But I do.

Because I can't even help it.

I push, and he pins, easily keeping my hands from him and overpowering my frantic passion. Just like that, we've gone from luscious harmony to irritation and jealousy.

My heart roars in my chest and I can feel my face contorted in anger. I ball my hands into fists and want to hit him, but he holds them to the wall on either side of my head, and I want to fucking scream.

"If I was her you would," I taunt, coke and countless females faces flashing through my mind. "You wouldn't even fucking hesitate to fuck―

"Watch your mouth, B," Edward replies, so steady. Too calm. So dangerously comfortable in this position that it makes my hair stand on end.

But it's not enough to discourage or dissuade my resentment.

"Show me!" I demand again, my voice straining. "Show me this love is crazy and not for the meek. Show me you want me like I want you―

I'm cut off by Edward letting my hands go and closing my legs. My feet don't even touch the floor as he turns me around and locks my back to his front so quickly, so tightly I feel lightheaded. I struggle, but he wraps his left arm around my stomach, just under my breasts and grips my bicep in his hand to keep my arms down. Before I can even blink, his right hand is between my legs, his fingers pressing possessively against me through too-thin pink lace.

"You don't have any idea―"

"_You_ don't have any idea!" I shout back, pushing at both of his hands, trying to twist free from his arms.

He jerks my body more firmly to his and digs all of his fingers into me to hold me tighter―his left five into my upper arm and his right five into my most delicate, still sensitive and so-in-need little place. I cry out loud and he rubs heavy circle shapes with his fingertips.

I try to fight it, but I can't. My fight isn't wholehearted, because part of me wants this. So much of me craves this kind of invincibility.

Love bends me closer to himself, curving his whole body around mine.

"Have you thought about it?" He asks. His voice is hot under my left ear, his pitch restrained, but steadfast. "Have you imagined what it's going to be like, Bella? How it's going to feel?"

I press my lips together and breathe through my nose. I can't answer.

_I have thought about it..._

But there's knowledge in his voice, conviction I've never felt, and I push at his arms again because I can't think like this. I can hardly breathe.

Edward doesn't grant me a stitch of freedom. His left arm tightens and he rubs slower, heavier with his right fingers. I can feel how wet he's made me and is still making me, and even though I'm pushing with my hands and struggling with all my upper body, I rock my lower half like a reflex toward his touch. He groans behind my ear and I swear to God I feel the sound burn right into my skin.

"Have you thought about what it's going to be like when I'm right here?" He asks, drawing a tormentingly slow circle around me, causing me to weaken further. And as I melt back against him, he pulls my lace to the side and slides his fingers along me, slipping me open.

I pant and whine, and want so fucking much. I try to ride, but he moves at only his own pace, holding me tighter. He drops his voice to a deep-dark whisper, sliding just the tips of his two middle fingers in and out, the smallest bit further each time. "Do you know how right it's going to feel when you wrap your arms around me the first time I'm inside you, Bliss?"

"Fuck, Edward―"

I can't take it. I can't emotionally or physically hold everything he's filling me with. My legs go completely slack and my whole body shudders. My blood feels like shooting stars and shots of moonshine, and my heart beats like it's going to explode.

Love doesn't let up. He rubs harder and pushes deeper, and his voice sets my flesh on fire. "How good it's going to be when I'm so fucking deep in you, you can't even breathe without feeling every inch of me?"

I gasp so fast, too many sharp-shallow little breaths that hurt my chest. "God, God, God, please -"

Edward gives me his fingers. All the way. I feel his knuckles and he push, push, pushes me.

"Have you thought about how amazing it's going to feel the first time you come on my dick?"

His whisper surrounds.

His words are everywhere.

"Do you have _any_ idea how fucking made for this we are, baby? Do you know?"

"Please," I hear myself plead, all breath and no air, desperate and devoted, stretched across forever and fastened at the soul. "I love you, I love you, I love―

Edward groans. The sound comes from his chest and I feel it resonate between my shoulders. He slide pushes his fingers harder, faster, leaning his forehead against my cheek.

"I want inside you so bad, Bliss. I want you so fucking bad..." His breathing feels as shallow as my own. He's gone from being so in control to every bit as defenseless and dependent as me.

That's the thing about soul-love.

It's a million times stronger than the tiny vessels that carry it, and I can hear that truth in his voice. I can feel it inside me when he breathes.

He groans again as he buries his face in my neck and slide-pushes deeper, curving his fingers.

He makes me fucking scream, and his left hand is over my mouth instantly, but it doesn't even register. I come so hard I see ultraviolet light and hear angels whistle.

I leave the basement and high school, and the whole world behind for some blinding amount of time … and I am nothing but his. Nothing but love's.

Loved.

_Love._

As I blink and begin to tremble back down, I feel tear tracks on my burning hot cheeks. I rock through lingering waves like full-body echoes and realize while I do that my feet are barely touching the floor. Love is holding me up in the palm of his hand.

I touch my fingers to the backs of his that are over my mouth and pull in a chestful of air when he slides them away. I'm still blinking though boundless feeling belovedness when the room around me spins, blurry, beautiful and smooth as Edward turns me.

I see the ceiling and the dusty dim lights sting my eyes. I close them and he lays me on my back on a cool, flat surface. His fingers leave me for less than a second before they're inside again, slower now. Even deeper and so much slower.

A long low moan I've never heard comes up from somewhere in me and I arch my hips, opening my legs wider, lost for more.

Edward moves patiently, pushing in and out with caring and careful purpose. Coming again feels a hundred years and unimaginable miles away, but it doesn't matter. Love has all the time in the world, and he digs gently, like he's prepared to give every second of it to me. To this.

To us.

Spun on heaven, I blink and breathe in as he pulls me to the edge of the work table. His left hand holds me in place while he pushes his right middle fingers deeper and rubs them slowly together inside me.

I pull another inhale before I can even breathe out and my back arches, and I feel like I come undone. I grab onto his tee-shirt and pull him down, and hold on for life while he strokes me softly close, close, closer to the edge of consciousness again. I literally feel like I'm falling, and I can't help my panic.

So, I grip him tighter and sort of scramble under his touch, slipping, searching.

Edward secures his hold and digs deeper, angling my hips up as he leans over me. I feel his face right over mine and I blink. He's blocking out the light that stings and his nose brushes mine with every slow push of his fingers.

"Kiss me," he whispers, all soft doublemint-sweet warmth and long lashes lowered in wanting over such open-hearted black. "Kiss me, Bliss. Kiss me..."

I summon every quivering strand of strength I have and lift my head enough to touch my lips to his. I feel the tip of his tongue and his lips open more, and I kiss him deeper and come all the way apart, all over again underneath his mouth.

It's dreamier this time, slow-motion transient and tenuous. My orgasm is heart-flutter-soluble, and it leaves me tee-shirt clinging and love-confessing, and completely reliant on his strength.

Handling me with care as my breathing slows and my shivers start to calm, Edward blows a long breath out and eases his body from mine. He lies down on his back next to me and curves his right hand with my left.

Neither of us speaks. The truth that's always there is brimming in the air between us. It fastens us more permanently together without a single word and blesses our hearts with assurance, and reason, and wonderful, unutterable, soul-tied-love.

Apart, we're small and weak. We are flawed and selfish. We're limited in our perceptions and abilities, but soul-love is unmeasurable and all-powerful. Together this way, we're perfect and incorruptible.

Edward smokes while I catch my breath. I push my right hand through my hair as he brushes his thumb over my left knuckles. He brings my hand up after a few minutes and kisses the top of it. I hum a smile, and when I glance over to bring him into focus under the dim fluorescence, he's smiling, too.

I think about how we're too little, too young, too clumsy and messed up for this love, and I know it doesn't matter. Giving this up isn't anywhere even near the realm of possible. He's in my soul, and I'm in his. I have no idea what souls are made of, but his and mine are the same.

Split.

Right down the middle.

I bring his hand to my lips and kiss the top of his like he did mine. He blows smoke toward the cobwebbed ceiling and continues to smile. His expression doesn't shift an inch when my phone vibrates, but I know he hears it. It's loud in my pocket, against the tabletop. We both hear it.

While I ignore the sound, Edward stubs his cigarette out on the other side of the table. "You should get back to class, slacker-baby."

I don't want to nod, but I do. I know he's right; the world is waiting. On both of us. But I don't want to leave this place. "So should you," I say quietly, my voice scratched from begging love and breathing recklessly.

Edward sits up without replying and I follow his lead, and as I do, I see him. He's still so hard under tight black denim and it makes my tingles start all over again.

I lift my hand, wanting so much just to help, but he shakes his head, just like before. His smile stays, but he doesn't laugh this time.

"No, baby." His voice is softly serious and almost apologetic sounding.

Almost.

"I want to..." I say with pure sureness, tilting my head so he'll look at me. "I want to give to you."

He sniffs. "I know," he tells me, meeting my eyes. His are regretfully restrained and comfort-requesting. He's on edge. He's always on edge lately, but I can see his self-control and balance wavering, and I know I have to be the stronger one in this moment.

"Not here," he adds, lower-spoken.

I still don't want to leave, but Edward's already on his way out, buttoning the truth back down to a secret right in front of me.

I nod, understanding and knowing, and pressing my lips together as I stand. I keep my left hand in his and when my feet are flat on the floor, I shufflestep between where his legs hang off the ledge so that I can steady myself face to face. Edward combs his free fingers through my hair, composing it back into some kind of not-so-crazy while I bring his right hand up. I kiss the heel and rest my cheek in his palm.

"Tonight?" I ask just above a whisper, lifting my love-heavy lashes to look him in the eye. "Will you come over?"

He nods without a second of deliberation. "Yeah," he says, sliding his hands down my sides, straightening my shirt and smoothing my skirt out. I meet his kiss-pouty lips once more before I make myself move against gravity.

I glance over my shoulder before I leave the room we just lit our secret up in. Edward lights another cigarette and folds his hands in his lap.

He smiles as I do. He blows smoke. He sniffs.

"I'll leave the door unlocked," I tell him, my heart fighting tooth and nail against steps I know I have to take.

Love promises with his eyes what he can't with his words.

"I'll be there."

.

.

.

It's hours before I talk to him again.

I've just changed into my sleep tank and matching pajama shorts, looking in my dressing table mirror at my right arm. There are light bluish-purple prints on the back of my bicep where Edward dug his fingers in today. They'll be bruises before morning.

"I won't be able to wear short sleeves for a week," I inform him, phone pressed between my ear and my shoulder while I rub lilac and sweet pea lotion into my hands and forearms.

I'm far from any kind of upset about the marks. I love them. I love his impetuous possessiveness and hotheaded desire. I love carrying imprints of his passion in my skin and being able to see for days after we've parted, where my blood vessels couldn't take any more, and broke open for his lips. His teeth. His fingertips.

"People are going to think I'm crazy if I wear cardigans in August."

"You _are_ crazy," Edward replies. I can see him grinning. I've got kiss-fever for the second time today, and I don't know what's taking my parents so long to go to bed, but I'm getting impatient. I said goodnight more than two hours ago and I can still hear the television going.

I sigh, shaking out my just out of the shower and towel-tousled hair. "Come over here," I play. "I'll show you crazy."

"I miss you," he says. His voice is sort of brittle sounding and his words are unrushed, making me pretty sure he hasn't used since whenever he did earlier today.

"I miss you," I tell him softly, needing him so much closer. "I don't know why they're still up." I shut off my light and open my door. Peeking my head out into the hallway, I strain my ears. I can hear their voices, but can't make out their words. "Let me go listen for a minute and I'll call you back."

Trading love and leaving my phone on my desk, I tiptoe down the hall to the top of our stairs. I can hear the History Channel better, but their words are hushed and still too hard to decipher. So, I creep down a few steps and sit three up from the bottom. I crane my neck and I can see their profiles.

It was after nine when I went up to bed, but Dad still wasn't home then. He and Mom are sitting on the couch together now though, facing each other. She's in her fluffy ivory-white robe and he's still in his uniform, but his collar is unbuttoned. His dark hair looks upset-messed, like he spent his entire drive home with his head leaned into his left hand.

Mom says something I miss. I scoot down a step and listen harder.

"It was just pot," I hear my dad say, "but it wasn't just a little bit."

"Okay," Mom replies, and in that one little word, I can hear her so clearly, trying to maintain quiet composure for both of them. But there's real concern in her tone too, true worry. It's the sound of newly acquired knowledge you can't un-know and aren't sure how to handle. It's the pitch of protection and nervousness, and hoping so wholly for the best.

It's a reminder of what sets people like my mom apart from most of the world. It's the sound of wanting to believe that there is good in _everyone_.

"But that doesn't mean Edward was connected to it in any way," she insists gently.

Her words don't keep my heart from thumping into my throat or my dad from shaking his head. "I saw him in the Lincoln last week," he tells my mother, rubbing his forehead, then his eyes.

My parents sit silently for a minute and mom tucks blonde hair behind her ear. She leans her cheek against the couch and I can't see her face anymore. I'm pretty positive they're talking about Dimitri because he's the only one that ever carries more than _just a little bit_ of pot, and I hate him more than ever. He's jeopardizing everything.

I swallow uneasily and try to sort through everything I just heard. For so long, I've felt like Mom was and would be the more doubtful, and disapproving of my parents, the more difficult of the two. But what comes next turns that sentiment upside down.

I hear her sigh, the sound of wanting hope while Dad sits up straighter and speaks with half the volume, and double the seriousness of everything he previously spoke.

"I mean... what kind of people are we letting our daughter hang out with?"


	25. Two Against One

**We do not own Twilight. This is a razor love. It cuts clean through.**

**All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer, Neil Young, Jack White, The Kills, The Silversun Pickups, Simon and Garfunkel, Sublime, Kid Cudi, Nirvana, Interpol, and Silverchair.**

**TeamBella is my dusty princess partner and BabyBlue is the most trusted advisor and pretty-polisher two girls could ask for. I love you guys.**

**Daniele Luppi and Danger Mouse, featuring Jack White - Two Against One**: _Make no mistake; I don't do anything for free. I keep my enemies closer than my mirror ever gets to me. And if you think there is no shelter in this attitude, wait 'til you feel the warmth of my gratitude._

_I get the feeling that it's two against one. I'm already fighting me. So what's another one? The mirror is a trigger and your mouth's a gun. Lucky for me, I'm not the only one._

_This ain't no free-for-all to see. There's only three. It's just you and me against me._

**Chapter Twenty Four – Dusty**

Rolling the wheel with my right hand, I turn onto Petey's street. My phone vibrates for the fourth time since I left. I continue to ignore it. My temper is what it is, but this was really and truly, all baby.

I drag my left hand down my face and drive with my fingers sort of over my mouth, facing the setting sun. It's blinding yellow-orange and burning bright. My shades don't really help.

I want a line.

I want two lines.

I want Bliss.

_She's supposed to be here,_ my heart beats, making my chest feel tight, full-up. I try to swallow a breath and it hurts. _She's supposed to be right here. _

That's the fucking point of all this.

I want love a thousand times more than I want anything else, but she's more unattainable than everything.

I swallow harder and squint my eyes against the sunset, replaying our words from just minutes ago in the back of my mind.

"Pete can ride with Ben. I'll come get you. I'll talk to your fucking dad -"

"Edward..."

That was all she had to say.

We'd barely been on the phone two minutes, and that was it. Nothing I could have said would have mattered. In her heart, she'd already decided.

"It can just be us," I tried anyway, phone pressed between my left ear and my shoulder as I tied my shoe. "I won't go to the game. We'll sit on your mom's couch and drink fucking apple juice. I don't care."

Not a word.

Love is like this a lot lately: guarded. Her parents tightened up after everything with Dimitri. They've cut back on the time she's allowed to spend outside of home, and are more watchful when she's there. In turn, it's made baby extra cautious about keeping this secret.

I'm so fucking tired of being a secret.

I haven't actually seen her in over a week. We steal looks in the hallways, but everyone's around and we're worlds apart. She's more theirs than mine, more than ever and I hate it. I need her.

While I tied my other shoe and stood up with my phone still pressed to my ear, Bella stayed silent. It cut and I wanted to say _please_, as I grabbed my keys off my dresser. I thought about saying _just let me see you. I need to fucking see you,_ but I couldn't.

"It's a school night, Al," she finally said, her tone totally hollow, her unwillingness to even try tearing me deeper.

I blinked and I was downstairs and outside, in the driver's seat with my door open. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, thumb-tracing _her_ in my pocket. My consciousness was spinning and steady love was across town, miles away, _and it's not like I asked for the fucking stars -_

I just wanted her to come out. Just for a little bit. I wanted her near. Even if I couldn't fucking touch her, I just wanted her within reach.

"You're not even trying," I said, my own voice thin, pitted out and weightless sounding. I hated it. I hate how susceptible and dependent love makes me feel.

Shaking my head as I turn into Pete's driveway, I wait for him to come out. I think about checking my phone, but I don't because I'm right: she isn't even trying. I know our chances are slim and the odds are fucking stacked, _but how can we do this for two more years if she doesn't at least try?_

Ability courses through me. Attachment stitches without anesthetic.

I square my shoulders and sniff.

_Her lack of effort shouldn't still surprise me. _

_She won't even say yes when it's just me and her. _

"Never mind," I said quietly, forcing indifference into my pitch, because love acts and reacts. Love is measure for measure, and I wanted to sound like she did. Like I didn't care. Like it didn't matter any more to me than it did to her, that I was falling the fuck apart.

I emptied my voice out. "Just forget it."

Her wince was unmistakable. I felt it in my own chest before I hung up.

.

.

.

"Don't go." Love breathes, face buried in my chest. She curves her small fists tightly into my unzipped jacket. Her tears soak through my shirt. Every drop cuts like a new razor, melting-sharp right through my skin, marking me with her cries...

.

.

.

"You're slipping," the devil scoffs, shaking her head, tossing messy black hair over her shoulder. Her fingers slink and creep with backroom-temperature intent.

Her breath doesn't even feel warm.

.

.

.

_Leave with me_, _she_ whispers, hot in my veins and compulsive in my marrow.

_They can't love you like I do._

.

.

.

I clench my eyelids closed and grip with everything I have. I grip so tightly my knuckles sting and my muscles burn. Inhaling sets my lungs on fire.

"I can't -" I hear my voice break apart in the dark. I grip my hands tighter still, struggling, straining every raw nerve ending just to hold on.

There's a loud choke sound cut in half by a way too sharp breath. Like a sob, strangled and drowning and lost. My chest feels carved out by red-hot torches.

"It's okay," love murmurs, her voice silk-soft and soothing along my forehead.

I'm burning.

She's shaking.

I feel myself shake too, but her heaven-gentle fingers cool and console and make atonement in the dark. She feels and finds, and touches so easy. She pulls me up and out of the fire, and gathers me to herself while I'm still in flames.

"I'm right here," my soul tells me so quietly, brushing assurance with her lips and solace with her fingertips, fastening us together with sheer and absolute softness. So cool and clean and home, and _I can't - _

"I'm with you, Edward. Be here with me."

.

.

.

I push my hand through my hair and drop my hat back onto my head, unclipping my keys from my belt loop. "Alice, come the fuck on," I call up from the bottom of the stairs.

"Chill the fuck out," she snaps from her room. "Ribbons are important. Why are you in a fucking rush?"

_Because it's baby love's birthday and I'm missing her fucking smile_, is the truth, but I don't say anything.

Hood up, Al comes around the corner in my old camouflage cargos, carrying a box wrapped in Lion King colouring book pages and rainbow ribbons. I can't not laugh a little.

"Grab Mom's presents," she says, popping a bubble as she nods toward the dining room.

I step past her and shake my head as I turn the corner. Gift boxes are piled two on top of three, and there are bags in front of those. Mine and Alice's birthdays have never been any different, and as far as my mom is concerned, Bella's shouldn't be either, but she has to know we can't take all of these over to the Swans'.

Grabbing the pink envelope in front and the box directly behind it, I leave the rest for baby to open this weekend.

Bliss is sixteen today, and even though her mom has made spending school nights at home a rule this year, today was a birthday exception.

"I can have over whoever I want, or go anywhere. She said we can do anything I want," B told me last week.

We were in my bed and she was curled on top of me, knees bent around my hips. Her stomach was on mine, and her sleepy warm cheek and left little ear rested on my sternum. I slipped my right hand under her white cotton top, tracing the small dips in the bottom of her back while I listened to her talk.

She sighed and nestled closer, brushing her nose against my ribs through my shirt, settling her downy-hot hips against my hipbones.

She hummed and breathed, and was soft-spot-sweet home. "I just want you."

With my left hand loosely on the wheel, I pull gum from my pocket, thinking about her birthday three years ago. I remember how earnestly open and trusting her green-blues were when she said _I can kiss you like she does_. I think about her sneaking me into her parents' house less than twenty four hours ago so I could kiss her at twelve o'clock exactly.

"It's my birthday," she whispered last night, smiling a beautiful secret smile, arms around my neck, legs around my waist, her bottom on the very edge of the counter next to the sink. Her parents' downstairs bathroom filled up slowly with steam while she ran the shower to help cover our secret.

Looking down at her through unclouded eyes, I touched my nose to the side of hers and kissed her sugar-sweet sixteen mouth again.

"It's my birthday and I love you!" She squeaked in a whisper, beaming and bright when we broke for air.

"Shhhh," I whispered back, laughing, caught up in her elation. She held my eyes and all my love.

My life.

_Baby holds everything. _

She smiled high and hidden from the world as I picked her up, and she hummed as I brought our foreheads to touch, and our lips closer together. "Happy birthday, Isabella Bliss."

I sort of smirk in the car, turning left while Al plugs her phone in and searches for music. I think about how B couldn't stop glowing last night, and how she shined just as bright at school today. She spent every minute surrounded by my sister and their friends, and countless other people who wanted to wish her well and see her smile - and she did, she was undeniably everyone else's Bliss today - but every time she chanced a look in my direction, unallowed devotion was there, lit up and full in her eyes.

Maybe she doesn't say yes because she's scared.

Maybe she's being smart.

Whatever her reasons, Bella still isn't willing to try for me.

But she'll lie unflinchingly for us.

She can sneak and distort and conceal like nobody's business. Love's become a motherfucking artist at secret-keeping and today was just as flawless as any other. I kept my distance and watched with almost a week's worth of clarity, and hidden right there in smile-lit sight, was a love that was all my own.

It's laughable how unaware they all are. It would be funny, if I wasn't the secret.

I shake it off. Today isn't about that. Bella could have done anything tonight, had anyone tonight, and she wants me.

"Well, and Alice," she added that same night last week, when we were lying in my bed and she told me her mother gave her the choice. Cheek still over my sternum, she laughed, and the sensation vibrated right through her frame and into to mine.

_I love that sound._

That sound thrills, enraptures and enamors. Love's lightheartedness impassions me like nothing else.

My heart pulsed under hers, steady and at ease.

It thumps behind my bones here and now, weak-feeling in her absence. I press slightly harder on the gas while Al touches play on the new Silversun Pickups.

I snort, cracking my window. Pete's been playing the shit out of this album for days. I roll my eyes and rub my forehead with my free hand.

I want a joint.

Or a cigarette.

Something just to cut the edge off impatience, but I don't need the chief or his wife to look at me with any more questions or judgments than they already do. So, I roll my window further down and take a hit of autumn nighttime instead, and try to make it enough.

October smells like cool concrete and dying leaves, fires and damp decay. It's not quite dark just yet, but the street lamps are on, making the orange and yellow and brown littered streets and sidewalks glow dirty gold.

I breathe deeper.

I wish we were walking instead of driving.

I wish I was with Bliss instead of my sister, and I wish we could just walk down the fucking street together with her left hand in my right, right where they both belong.

But we can't, and I wish she'd just leave with me already.

_I can take care of her._

I breathe out. My lungs are stale and my sinuses feel brittle unwell. My skin sort of crawls, and inside, my heart is anxious for a rush. I sniff without even thinking.

Alice snorts under her breath. I glance over and she's shaking her head. "Don't fuck around," she says, anger and protectiveness heavy in her voice

She means the drugs.

She means don't destroy her best friendship by being a screw-up in front of Bella's parents.

I turn onto their street and shut the stereo off, stopping "Gun-shy Sunshine" before it even reaches the best part. I unplug Al's phone without missing a beat and toss her shit to her lap. I shake my head, like_ I'm the only one in this car that's keeping some damaging fucking secrets. _

But I say "alright, kettle," instead, because we're all a bunch of hypocrites.

I say "sure," because there's no arguing with a mind so made up and a heart so dead-set on defending someone it feels and knows as family. As love. As all that's good in the entire world.

I don't argue, because I love the same blissful wonder she does.

And neither one of us is doing it right.

.

.

.

Renee answers the door with a welcoming smile "C'mon, come in," she tells us, pushing the sleeves of her sweater up as she stands aside.

I let Alice go in first and hang back a few steps, closing the door behind me while Renee pulls my sister into a hug. She kisses her pink hair and hugs me too. It's as wanted and strange as it is every time. Her sincerity is warm and unconditional, and the second I come into contact with it, I feel simultaneously undeserving and starved.

"Bliss is on the phone with her aunt," she says, turning and gesturing for us to follow her. "She'll be down in just a minute. Do you guys want something to drink?"

Al accepts and hands Renee Bella's gift. They small talk and I walk behind them, filling my chest up with the smell of vanilla-cinnamon candles and warm carrot cake. Simon and Garfunkel float from the record player in the living room, and laughter scratched by decades of lives well-lived drifts from the kitchen. We're about to turn the corner when true love speaks up behind us.

"Hey," she calls from the staircase, smiling birthday-bright as she rounds the last few steps.

I'm sure her mother and best friend turn to face her the same time I do, but I can't pay them any mind. For a second, she's the only thing in the universe that registers.

My heart beats.

"Hey, birthday-baby-baby!" Alice sidesteps straight past me to wrap her arms around B and greet her like they haven't seen each other in days instead of hours. I'm jealous, but I hardly feel it when I look at her. Baby open-mouth grins from ear to diamond-poked ear over my sister's shoulder. I feel almost nothing but love as I look.

Love, and gratitude.

And regard.

And soul-deeply rooted rights.

It's buried deep just now. I've got a handle on it, but I carry ownership and possessiveness of love behind my ribs. I always have. And no matter how far we get from each other, those rights never diminish. From every distance, she's always mine.

"Hi, Dusty," she says, her light-pink glossed lips curved in gorgeous gladness. She's wrapped in skin tight dark blue denim and a thin powder blue sweater so oversized, it hangs off her left shoulder, exposing fading summer-sun-freckled skin I know the taste of. She's radiating easy-going delight so warm I can feel it without even touching her.

"You got me something?" She asks, holding her hand out for the box and envelope I'd forgotten I was holding.

There's playfulness in her eyes. She knows Esme had to be at a dinner meeting with my dad tonight and that these gifts are from her. She opened my gift late last night, and when her fingers touched the pages, she smiled so hard her eyes glassed over.

"No way," Alice laughs before I can say anything. She tugs my girl's other hand and they both giggle as she leads her away and into the kitchen. "Those are from Mom. Wait until you see what's in this box, c'mere."

I follow with a smile on my face and longing tucked in my heart.

I shake hands with Bella's father's father and bend my knees even more than I do with her to hug her grandmother. Charlie nods when he comes in the side door and I return it, leaning back against the counter when my sister takes the last seat at the table to sit down next to her friend. Renee pulls cake from the oven and while it cools, I sip from the mug of coffee she hands me, watching in hidden adoration while her miracle opens birthday gifts.

Bella's grandparents give her a locket that's a generation older than they are. I'd unknowingly carried in a pair of Tom Ford cat-eye sunglasses from my mother, and there are lots of little things from her parents. She finally unties all the ribbons from Alice's gift last. From a bright yellow box that used to hold banana popsicles, she pulls out a gray hoodie with pale pink words on the side that look like Al stenciled and spray painted them there herself.

_Lovin, is what I got._

Bliss laughs and her high spirits are so easy to get swept up in. I feel my smile in my cheeks and shared gladness in my chest. I watch her laugh and talk with her grandparents and my sister. Renee ices the cake while it's still in the pan and Charlie gets dishes and silverware. When it's time, I help her mom light sixteen little white candles, and when she sets flame to the last one, I take two steps back to flip the light out.

With the birthday cake in front of her, love glows candle light elegant and radiant red-blonde adorable. She takes all my breath.

It's perfect-quiet for second before Alice starts to sing and everybody joins her.

With the light back on, we eat homemade carrot cake that's still warm while Charlie's mom tells stories about when Bella was a baby. I breathe easy and let myself get caught up in the smell of cream-sweet spices and candles just blown out, and the sound of everyone my girl loves, laughing and carefree. Everything about the house around me feels like a home, spiteless and worryless, cozy with loving prudence and cherished memories.

But when the birthday girl and my sister head upstairs, to her room where I'm not supposed to follow - a room that as far as everyone here knows, I've never even seen, let alone made Bliss sigh and cry and chant my name like a fucking prayer in - I start to feel less at home and more out of place.

Charlie glances over as he sits down at the table. It's quick, but loaded with everything it carries. It's a glimpse of the same way I've seen my dad look at Jasper, but far less lenient. There's judgment in the square of the Chief's shoulders and decision in the set of his jaw, and in the two seconds he looks at me, there's warning.

While love's parents and grandparents talk, my rights and defenses prickle inside. I know I'm supposed to be here and I know I'm stronger than them. I know she's mine, but nothing stops encumbering discomfort from steadily sinking in. The cinnamon-tinted air feels heavier, taking the ease out of breathing.

I haven't touched _her_ in days. I can't feel a single trace of _her_ in my system, but I'm suddenly sure they can see _her_ all over me.

And I can't be still.

I turn around and place my dishes in the sink. I pick up Bella's and place them there too. I think about washing everyone's just to keep from awkwardly standing around, but Renee gently stops me as I reach for my sister's saucer.

"Don't worry about those," she says, smiling warmly. I smile back, but guilt hooks me.

I want effort from Bella. I want her to try, but the weight and threat of choices I've made are tremendous and loud inside me now. Here in her parents' kitchen without her, I feel every shred of how unworthy and undeserving I always am of love.

As much as I want to, and do blame them anyway, I know I can't completely hold their wanting to keep her safe under this roof and secure in their arms against them. The world isdangerous and ruthless and cold, and this is the one place they know with one hundred percent certainty she's sheltered from it.

"You can turn the television on if you want," Renee offers. "You know you can make yourself at home."

_No,_ I think. _I can't._

_There's one place that's home and she wants to keep it a secret._

"Thank you," I say, pressing my lips together for a second. Charlie looks over as he takes a drink of his coffee.

I can't stay.

Excusing myself, I step out the front door and push the heels of my hands against my eyes. I sit down on the top step, because I can't fucking leave either.

I try not to, because I know her parents hate it, but I give in after a few minutes and light a cigarette. I blow smoke out under soft-white porch light and inhale crisp night air. It's overly painful in my chest and the hurt is un-drug-induced. Every sharpened edge of my breath is all for love and it's unbearable to the point that I want to fucking cry.

_I'm no good for her. _

_I'm all wrong. _

_But we're right. _

I can't be without her. I can't, because being with her is as basic and fundamental as air and food and water. Her parents think she's sheltered here, but she's _my_ shelter and I'm hers, and they can't protect her from me, because I'd die without her. I know I would. Hopeless and homeless, and wasted, and _I can't -_

The thought that follows is too crippling to even think.

So, I don't.

I blow it out and reach for another cigarette as I finish my first one.

I want to run.

I want to scream until my voice goes out.

I want to drown in coke and not come up until I'm fucking numb, and it would be so easy. Going to _her_ right now would be as simple as that, and no one would have to know. I could take a bump from my glove compartment and everyone inside could go on with the conclusions they're already assuming anyway, and no one would actually be any wiser.

_Except the one person it would hurt the very most._

_Except everything that's beautiful and good and right in the world._

B would know.

She always knows.

She asks sometimes like she needs to hear me say that I have, but she always knows when I've been with _her_. Love and I are bound so closely that even when I'm gone miles away, I wonder if her heart accelerates when I get nose deep in a cut_._

Staying put, I breathe out and rub my eyes some more. I take in another hit of autumn-tinted, most-sacred-day-of-the-year air and hold it. Cold nighttime burns in my lungs. My chest hurts, but not in a bad way now. As fucked as I feel, the bite of dead summer and coming winter is invigorating. It's proof that I'm still here, that she at least still allows me this near.

Nothing is any less complicated, but nothing is over either.

_Just two more years._

_Less than that if she leaves the summer after she graduates._

We just have to ride it out a little longer, and we'll be free.

I shift my feet down a step, stretching my legs and scuffing a chip in the old wood with the toe of my new shoe. The chip splits slightly deeper and leaves a scratch on the white bottom of my black-topped Circa. I lean down a bit and am trying to rub it off when I hear the door around the side of the house open and close.

Renee comes around the corner and I sit up straight, lifting my hand in a small wave. The porch light makes her kind of glow, and undoctored wrinkle lines from years of joy and worry, crease around the corners of her eyes as she smiles.

She waves back and I watch as she opens the left garage door. My grin takes over when I see the drop-top Rabbit parked inside. Oldand modest and sort of unconventionally conservative, it's nothing fancy, but it's safe. And kind of, sort of perfect.

I stand up on the top step, laughing through my smile just as the wooden front door open behinds me. Bella beams through the glass as she looks out, watching her mom back the car out of hiding and into the driveway. She's out-loud excited and truly grateful. You can hear it in her laugh when she beelines straight for the car just as Renee parks it.

Strawberry-blonde gets in, and she looks so pretty behind the wheel. My sore heart fucking skips and I feel her in every flutter-beat.

Alice gets in shotgun and they turn knobs and flip switches together, laughing back and forth in their own language. Charlie walks down past me without a word, without a look, to stand next to his wife outside Bella's rolled down window. They talk to her about safety and learning and rules, and B is happily full of _thank you_'s..

When they're not looking, she shoots me a smile from the driver's seat.

I can't wait to kiss her right there.

.

.

.

A little over an hour later, the three of us are standing in the living room saying good night.

I didn't get Bliss to myself for a single minute. Not that I expected to. I knew what tonight was when I came, but parting from her is never really easy.

When she steps away from Alice to hug me, it's fifty-fifty torture and relief.

Even on her tiptoes, we're tall and small enough together that it's easy for B to hide her face in my neck for one unquestionable second. I pull a hit of tea trees and citrus and warm sugar.

"I love you," she whispers so quietly, rocking flat onto her feet again just as I feel it.

I press my lips together and push my hands into my pockets, rolling through the urge to reach out and bring her back to myself. I smile tightly. "See you, princess kid."

"Hey, I'm sixteen," she pipes up, flashing her pretty teeth without an ounce of hesitation. "Maybe you can't call me kid anymore."

Smirking, I take the opportunity to give her sunrise coloured curls a tug. "Kid," I say again, meeting her eyes.

Alice rolls hers, exhaling audibly.

Love shines bright. "See you guys," she says, waving as we head out.

Al and I are in my car about a minute before she has the same song I turned off on our way here, turned up again. I let it play.

We don't speak, but it's not tense. She pulls her hood up over her bubble gum pink and is wrapped up in her phone a few minutes later. The same time I reach for mine, my screen lights up with two new messages from Bliss.

_I miss you already._

and

_Come over tomorrow night. Teach me?_

I glance left and right, and turn toward my parents' house. _Teach you what, baby girl?_ I ask, just to be obnoxious.

_Everything_, her reply reads. _Starting with how to work a __gear shift. _

I laugh under my breath and pocket my phone, waiting the few blocks until we're parked in my parents' driveway before I take it back out. Once Alice is out of the car, I read love's words again before I reply:

_Tomorrow._

_._

_._

_._

My heartbeat wakes me.

Before I'm coherent, I'm hard.

I have no idea what time it is and I can't even care. I turn onto my side and press my eyelids tighter closed, thinking about Bliss's smile last night, candlelit. I think about her whisper-soft lips and the muffled little sounds she makes when she's trying to breathe, when I give her my fingers.

My heart beats faster.

I push waking away and palm my dick through my boxers, while my consciousness spins with want and heat and memories.

I think about the second time I touched her, on the dock, and the first time I picked her up and slipped my hands under her dress. I think about her cold toes, and her warm laugh, and her belly button, how she circles for me and how pink she is, and I'm so hard. I'm so fucking hard -

I hear myself kind of moan.

I ache and close my eyes tighter, thinking about pretty pink and so soft. I think about how she's going to breathe and shake and cling to me the first time I push all the way inside her. I think about how absolutely, completely fucking pure and perfect and _right_ she's going to feel that way. How mine. How only, _only_ mine she is.

I groan and grip, and I want her so bad.

_Here._

_Right fucking here._

I tighten my grip and move with intent, but it's no use.

My phone vibrates loudly against my night stand, jarring me from my love-needing. I grit a curse between my teeth and my stomach clenches, and twists, and burns through the need to finish, but it's gone. I blink my eyes open and the dim light in my room stings my tired eyes. I close my lids again, pushing down on my dick until enough feeling courses back to my legs for me to stand.

Every morning isn't like this, but it's nothing new either. I've wanted her longer than I want to admit, even to myself. I've always known that she was made just for me, and needing her has kept me up and woke me up more times than I can count.

I take a quick shower and head to my closet to grab anything that's clean. I zip black cotton over a white tee-shirt, and tuck my wallet and phone with my habits into my back pockets before heading downstairs.

The house is empty. Everyone else is already gone.

Outside, it's cloudy. Everything is damp brown and frostbitten gray, but I still put my sunglasses on. October early morning is cold in my lungs and on my face. I pull my hood up.

I turn the key and check my phone while I let the Lincoln run. It's almost eight. If I left right now, I'd make it to first hour probably just as the bell rang.

But I don't.

I shuffle music on and turn _About a Girl_ up low.

I glance in my mirrors and tug _her_ from hiding.

It's been days, but I don't hesitate. I don't even think. I take a hit from my pinkie like it's nothing.

I do it again.

Left.

Then right.

Back to back, before the rush of the first fire has even burned all the way through me, I start another.

My heart makes haste. My whole body heats. I feel my pupils open wider. I'm rapt with unequivocal potential while the best-worst taste tingles on the back of my tongue. Scratchy guitars and screechy-gritty need for an easy friend sound louder around me.

I turn it up.

I'm late to school and I take _her_ two more times in the parking lot before I go in, dauntless, unburdened, and complacently careless.

The secretary leers at me when I stride into the office without a care. Cold wind clings to my person, but all I feel is my pulse.

The look she gives me over her glasses blatantly displays her aversion to the fact that somehow, I'm still allowed in the building. I sign my name on the same clipboard I have a hundred times, like all tardy motherfuckers are supposed to, and give her a respectless smile. I drop the pen, making it roll off the edge and hang from the little chain it's attached to. I resist the urge to knock her cork board cubicle the fuck over and show her both my middle fingers.

Because fuck her and fuck this place.

It's a joke they let me get by with, just like my parents. I come in here and do exactly what I need to graduate, and show up a few extra days in-between to see Bella, and that's it, because that's the point.

She's the reason.

I don't have a clue what I want to _do_ or _be _when I _grow up_, but I know I want her. And we can go anywhere. As long as we're together, I can be or do anything, and if that's not the case, we'll jump off that bridge when we come to it. Until then, she's the only thing I want and she's all I'm any sort of worried about.

The bell that ends first hour rings just after I walk out of the office. I take my sunglasses off, but leave my hood up while classrooms empty out. Chemistry is on the second floor, so I head toward the stairs at the very end of the hall.

I'm not expecting it - I don't usually see her until lunch, but my body picks up on love's nearness right before she turns the corner. I hear her before I see her, laughing.

Next to Leah, binder held loosely to her chest, B has on a light gray sweater and tight white hip huggers she looks poured into. Her pretty grin doesn't slip when our eyes connect, but her blue-greens flicker something more serious than what she's letting on.

My blood beats a stolen split-second faster through my veins as we walk straight toward each another. She's not going to turn and neither am I, and it's so double-edged.

I want her closer. I want her to walk to me, but there are too many eyes and ears all around. It won't really be her. This isn't really us, and with every peek in my direction, I can see something she needs to tell me.

Not that she would here and now, but we don't even get the chance.

"Dusty!"

I recognize the voice before I turn around to follow the sound, to see Kim walking in my direction. Her pupils are wide awake, but her pastel painted eyelids look beyond tired.

"Hey," she says when we're closer.

I nod, feeling love close the distance between us behind my back.

Kim holds on to her backpack straps, glancing around the hall before she looks at me. "Have you seen Vic?"

I start to roll my eyes, but drop my lids as I shrug and shake my head. I don't know when I saw her last, and I don't want to deal with this here and now.

"I can't get a hold of her. She won't call or text me back, and I haven't seen her since Monday." Kim continues talking and I feel Bella right before she walks by. She passes my right side without the slightest flinch or falter in the clack of her boot steps. It takes conscious control to keep from reaching out and stopping her.

Kim waits for me to say something.

I shrug again.

"I'm just worried, I guess," she says as she starts to walk. I step with her; it's the same direction I was heading anyway and it's not like I can turn around anyway. I kind of listen as she goes on and on, but I'm thinking about how I need to get to Bliss.

"She's just never stayed gone this long..."

Between wondering about love and wishing Kim would fuck off so I can go find her, I remember Victoria texting me late, late, late Monday night, asking me to come out.

I never replied.

"Have you tried Dim?" I ask, realizing when I hear them, those are the first words I've spoken all morning.

Blonde falls from behind Kim's ears as she shakes her head. "I don't have his number. Petey -"

I nod, knowing what she's going to say before she says it, because I don't want my girl talking to him either.

_But that's the thing. _

Vic isn't anybody's girl.

She's lone and inaccessible, and while the people that love her worry sick, she's probably the exact same place I go.

_Gone._

_Away._

_Lost._

"That's probably where she is," I tell Kim, referring to Dimitri. "Don't worry," I add over my shoulder as I head upstairs.

She doesn't follow. I type out two messages on my way to class. One to Victoria:

_Call your friend. She's scared._

And one to Bliss:

_Talk to me._

I'm bored in chemistry and impatient as fuck for almost half an hour before my phone finally vibrates, but it's not who I want.

_I'm fine_, the devil says. _Come over._

I slide my phone back into my pocket without responding, and tap my pen against my blank notebook page.

Another five minutes ticks by.

Ten.

Fifteen.

I slip from impatient to bitter and when baby finally replies, her words do nothing to allay my anxiety.

_Don't be mad,_ is all her text says.

I blink slowly and drag my hand down my face. My temper burns. I sniff. I look up from the last seat in the back row and think about walking out.

_Why?_ I text back.

It takes her more than a few seconds.

_It's just a show. It's nothing_.

I want to throw my phone.

I'm in the middle of asking what the fuck she's talking about when the bell rings. I pocket my phone instead and take the stairs back down to the first floor, where I know she's leaving English.

The back of her red-blonde crown stands out in the hall and I move quickly through to her. I feel my pulse quicken and my fingers curl with denied want when I make it to her side, and I know she feels it too. I don't see her like everyone else does. My regard goes incontestably deeper. I see her breathing change.

She looks up when we fall into step, but I don't look down. For her sake, I don't meet her eyes yet.

The library is a few doors away, and I walk with her until we're close enough to it that I can reach around her, in front of her, open the door, and push her inside.

I'm uneasy, and I don't give a fuck who sees.

It's stuffy silent in the library compared to the hustle in the hallway. The air feels warmer. Bella doesn't push my hand away from her back as I continue to nudge her, left then right. She moves faster, leading the way to anywhere we can be more alone.

"It's my birthday," she whispers sourly over her shoulder while we walk between stacks of books. "You can't be mad at me, remember?"

I grab her elbow and pull her down a forsaken aisle. We're surrounded by dust and dead poets nobody cares about. Right above pinned-back strawberry-blonde, Hemingway's name catches my eyes just before I look down into hers.

"Your birthday was yesterday," I tell her. "What the fuck is going on?"

She yanks her arm away, and opens the book on top of her binder to hand me two tickets.

To The Kills.

Tomorrow night.

And I know before she says anything, who they're from.

And I know she's right. I can't be mad.

I can't.

But I am.

I'm virulent under the surface. I'm beyond.

_She's choosing this. And she's defending it._

_To me._

"I thought you heard. Leah was talking about it when -"

I cut her hollow voice off, keeping my own low and calm. "You're not going."

She shakes her head. "Don't do this."

She holds my stare. "It's The Kills and it's a birthday gift."

She stands up to me. "And I want to go."

"You're not going with him," I tell her, knowing even as I say it that she can, and not only that, but she has no reason not to.

Because she won't say yes to me.

_Suddenly we're back in my room. It's my sixteenth birthday and she's throwing a fit in my bed, trying not to cry, watching me leave anyway._

_Love is the tables turned._

Baby snatches her gifts from my hand and stuffs them back into her book. "You know I love them," she says. "You knew I wanted to go; I've been saying so for weeks -"

I laugh. Out loud. I can't help it.

"Please," I say, extending my empty hands in invitation. "Why don't you explain to me how that matters?"

I shake my head, looking down at our feet as I place my hands on the timeworn bookshelf on either side of her face and lean in. She tilts her neck to maintain eye contact.

Her nerve is stunning. She's provocative when she's like this, brash and unhidden, an eye for an eye with me.

_Measure for fucking measure._

But, I didn't want to fight today.

I'm tired from fighting.

"Why don't you just say it, B?" I ask quietly, dropping my stare from hers to look down at the space between us, burning the fuck up to close it. "You don't want this. Just say it."

She swallows hard. I see her throat muscles work. I watch her fingers clench and unclench, and curl into fists at her sides. Between her teeth, she practically grinds her whisper out:

"I'm fucking dying for this."

I snort, lifting my hands from the shelf and my whole self away. I have to, because I want to shake her. I want to knock the whole shelf down.

"Have fun with your boyfriend," I spit, turning on my heels, walking away, because _it's not the same._

_Dying for this love isn't the same as wanting it._

I leave her with moth-eaten hardbacks and fetid secrets, alone in the stacks. She doesn't reach out or make a sound. She makes no attempt to stop me, and I don't bother looking back.

.

.

.

When I get to my car, I don't know where I'm going. There's no sun out to be found or follow. I just drive.

I head south on US 101, toward the clouds and glance at my tank, good to go for more than a while.

I drive, and drive, but my pulse won't ease up. So, I crack my window and light a cigarette. I breathe menthol and carcinogens, and my head spins. Thoughts that torture twist with others I can't even bear.

I don't know what I'm doing.

I can't think.

I can't do anything but feel love not want me.

I grip the wheel and press harder on the gas. I merge onto Olympic and drive, and drive, and drive toward the Washington-Oregon border, because even though I hate it when she cries, even though her tears fucking scar, _where were they? _

My stomach knots and pulls tight. I take the first exit into Longview and park at the first gas station I see. It's rusted and run-down, and I lock the dirty bathroom door behind me before puking carrot cake and bitterness up.

I wash my face with cold water that smells like metal, and force Bliss to the furthest corner of my mind. And once she's there -

I cut cokeup and use _her_ uncarefully, selfishly. I take and take, glutting myself until I feel nothing.

No sensation.

No sight.

No sound.

When numbness swallows me whole, I lift myself away from _her_ and breathe out. And as I do, _she_ breaks my ribs open and sets my mad-beating heart free.

Hurt is a memory, futility and insignificance, rumors I've never even heard as I swing open the bathroom door and walk outside. Autumn-sharp wind blows against me, cutting through my clothes, but I don't feel cold.

Leaving my car parked in the corner of the lot without half a thought, I pull my hood up and dig my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. I turn my steps right onto the sidewalk and head toward what looks like a main street.

I walk and walk just like I drove and drove.

I pass failing mom and pop shops, ten-story banks and private offices. I fall into stride beside the consumption-driven and the unsheltered hopeless. I step on trash, through traffic and across neatly kept lawns lined with struggling-against-the-frost flowers.

Their starving stems don't bend. They break under my steps.

Everything I set my eyes on is perfectly clear for seconds at a time, then blurs away. Nothing is actual. Every face is forgettable. And I fit right in.

As light starts to fade from the sky, I head west. White-gray gives way to gray-darkness and my phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling me from forgetfulness, back to myself.

But who I am is unwanted and worthless, nonessential. I don't want to be myself. So, I ignore the call.

I continue to walk and walk, eventually making my way back to the lot my car's parked in.

It's been hours, and I still don't know what I'm doing.

I head into the gas station under the jingle of bells against door-glass and am bombarded by the stink of incense, beer, and bleach. My stomach muscles twist-turn in on emptiness. I want to spit, but my mouth is dry.

The attendant yells at me from behind dingy-dirty and cigarette-sticker covered, bulletproof glass. "Hey! Take off your hood! You can't wear that in here!"

I don't look over. I push my hands into my front jacket pockets, causing my hood to tighten over my head and cover more of my face. I fill half a styrofoam cup with white cherry slush and walk to the counter without a word. Pulling out my wallet, I glance through the windows at the Lincoln as the man punches some numbers into a register.

"Is that your car?" The attendant asks.

Grabbing my cup, pulling frozen sugar through the purple straw, I continue to ignore him. Ice cold sweetness stings my chest as it cuts the chemical taste dripping from my sinuses.

"You can't leave your car here. We're having it towed."

He reaches for a cordless phone and I leave a twenty on the counter before walking out.

I stop at the next gas station to fill up the tank. The bathroom here isn't much cleaner than the first one, but it doesn't matter.

_She_ doesn't mind.

_She's_ unconditional.

I spread _her_, cut _her_, and take _her_ hard.

Somewhere between my third and fourth line, baby's laugh swims through the lake of fire. For a second, I wonder what time it is. If she's at home. If she's with him. If her heart is burning too.

I take two more lines back to back, without even a breath. I hope it lights her the fuck up.

And I cut two more because _why not? _

_She doesn't want me anyway._

.

.

.

The light coming in, even behind my tired-dropped lids, hurts. I press my hands over my eyes and curve onto my side, bending my knees up to my stomach. The truth is there before I'm awake:

_I don't know where I am._

I force my eyelids tighter closed and bow my head, tucking my chin to my chest. I feel my hood over my ears and my sleeves around my hands. They hurt. I curl up. Nothing is familiar.

_I don't want to know._

Memories open up like clouds and blur together like one long, convoluted nightmare. I remember dirty bathrooms and frozen sugar, and driving, and driving, and walking.

And walking.

I remember the hole in the wall club that smelled like cheap bourbon, and a crowded mess of forgettable faces. I remember how easy the X's on my hands were to scrub off, and a private little stall for just the two of _us_.

My stomach feels wrapped around wires.

I remember finishing _her_ and looking up, into the mirror. My sunglasses were gone and so was all my colour. My cheekbones stood out in the green-tinted fluorescent light and my eyes looked born in black.

_I don't know why I'm like this._

I curl tighter. My eyelids throb with my pulse. My head pounds retrospect I do not want.

The same giggle-snort sound that stood out in the crowd and caught my attention last night, echoes in my ear drums. It blurs from my mind, but leaves light yellow cotton, dark brown curls and small curves in its wake. The back of my tongue tastes like dirty cotton and misplaced resentment -

"_You think you're a princess, girl?" _in front of all her friends.

And _"Don't lie," _lower, closer to just her.

And _"Your dress covers up some ugly fucking truths doesn't it? Liar," _right against her cheek, _just_ so she'd tell somebody. Just so she'd go find some douche-fuck to come to her rescue, because that was what I really wanted.

I swallow; the left side of my jaw is sore. There's pressure from leftover violence heavy on both my temples, but it wasn't enough. I remember standing over her knight and walking away.

I breathe out and remember I'm on some girl's couch now. I don't know how we made it to her apartment, but I sort of recall being in it. I remember that she wanted to fuck, and I just wanted to lie right here and think about what it all comes down to.

My heart struggles. The truth is excruciating.

_I'm so fucked._

_I'm so God damned fucked. _

I breathe and it stings. My entire diaphragm feels bruised, from the inside and all throughout.

"Hey."

I blink my eyes open to purple terry-cloth and all wrong knees.

"You gotta get out of here."

Everything's blurry, but I see damp blonde.

"I have class in half an hour."

She walks away and I rub groggy and wayward coke-sleep from my eyes. There's early morning light coming in through translucent blue curtains and magazines spread out on her coffee table. Keys, an agenda for Lower Columbia Collegeand a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses are there too.

I grab her white plastic shades and am gone before she comes back out.

Even with my hood up and my sore eyes hidden from the light, morning is too bright and too cold, unmerciful and disorienting. I don't recognize anything I see and my head sort of swims, but as I start to walk, my body recalls steps my brain cannot. My feet know right where to find my car.

Alone in the front seat, I kick on the heat and exhale. I drop my hood and push my hands through my hair, trying to fully wake up. I lean back in my seat and stretch my legs, reaching for my phone.

_Thursday, October 25th, 7:49 a.m._

_Fourteen missed calls._

_Eleven voicemails._

_Twenty-nine new text messages._

_Not a single anything from Bliss._

I press my lips together and grit my teeth. I'm every galling bit as mad as yesterday and equally rightless to be, if not even more so, because love is supposed to forgive. She forgives me, but this isn't the same.

It's just not.

The tables aren't turned, they're bad art. Chopped and reshaped, they're nothing like they once were.

This is different, and she knows it.

I clench and unclench my fists. My blood beats. I breathe.

I could head north, toward school, and probably make it in time for the second half of the day. I could go, and see her lit up like a fucking candle for him, and make like it's not killing me.

I could walk straight up to her and tell her I need her, in front of anyone and everyone.

I could just text her, right here and now, and tell her how much I love her.

But love takes two.

So, I start driving and I head north. Instead of contacting her, I tap out a message to someone I'd rather chew glass than let her talk to. And when I ask for his help finding this _girl_ we both know, he calls instead of texting me back.

_What are friends for?_

"She's on her way," Dim says.

I can hear his grin and two or more sluts giggling in the background.

"Come on over."

.

.

.

I'm back in Forks, at this guy Embry's house because it's his friend's birthday, but I couldn't tell you who to save my life. In fact, there are probably only a very few things I could say with any certainty at this point, and up from down isn't even one of them.

Throughout the drive here, the morning sun gave way to darker clouds and colder cold. It's sleeting outside now, but it's easy to forget in here. Everything is warm and dry, and guitars layered over guitars buzz-thump in the air over the freezing rain and cricket calls.

I see laughs. I hear smiles. We're all high-lidded and heaven-forbidden. We're all lost, and I still fit right in.

Pete passes me the bottle of Black Label that's keeping me sedate while Ben sets fire to a blunt. Across the kitchen, Vic makes eyes I refuse to meet, and there is no shortage of girls slinking in and out of the semicircle we're standing in.

Fuck 'em.

I'm six feet deep in fuck-Bliss mode, which translates pretty unmistakably into fuck life and every meaningless aspect of it. So fuck everything.

_Fuck her._

I pull smoke into my chest as deeply as I can, and then pull some more. There's a girl on my left I'm suddenly aware of, but don't recognize. She wasn't there just a second ago.

"Can I hit that?" She asks.

I blow smoke in her face while I pretend to think about it, then laugh as I pass the blunt around her, to Charlotte.

In the room to my back, someone ups the volume on down tempo blips that sound spun under water. Across from me, Janey pulls Ben's face down to hers and blows a raspberry on his cheek. I pass the bottle back to Pete. He's laughing. Everyone is. The young and the wild don't have a care in the world.

I turn, and I'm in the living room. I step inside and a hundred hard-beating, out of sync pulses surround me. When I close my eyes, I can't tell my own from any of theirs.

I rub my eyes, and I'm in some girl's room with Mixie and we're both face down in _her_. The door's locked and we're setting each other on fire, but there is no _I_ in threesome.

I smoke a cigarette on the couch on the back porch, and then I'm back inside, climbing the stairs to the hallway on the second floor. Fingers slip pills over parted and waiting lips. Hands grip and hips grind. Red-shot eyes look to completely empty eyes for guidance and reassurance, and clean towels for bleeding noses. We are the youth, and we're knocking on death's door.

I sniff, and I'm alone with coke in the bathroom.

I check my phone. It's after one, and still nothing from Bliss.

My chest caves in around a beat. Bending to bear the pangs of discomfort, I close my eyes.

I don't know if I'm upstairs or down. I don't truthfully have any idea where I've been the last two days, but worse, I don't know where she is, where she's been. And all I can think are thoughts that make me seethe.

_His arm around birthday-happy, high-shrugged shoulders._

_His hand holding strong-small fingers and a so-soft palm._

_The look in his eyes the night she gave him __her kiss._

I choke when I try to swallow, opening and re-closing my eyes against tears so hot they're sharp. I swallow again, and push, and cram my fallow, good for nothing, constantly and inconsequentially breaking heart back down into my throat.

I lower myself and take, and take until _she_ spins me safely numb again.

.

.

.

Downstairs, the music is still up, but not as loud. Or maybe I'm used to it.

In the living room, Vic, Embry, Pete, and Jess are on the couch, killing the Black Label. Pete finishes a message and rests his phone in his lap. Jess twist-finishes and lick-seals a joint.

"Come smoke this," someone says.

My eyes don't want to focus. I don't try to make them.

I sink down and lean back into the love seat by myself. My foot taps. I pat my knee, keeping the rhythm.

I can feel Victoria's black eyes scanning me, but I don't give her mine. I breathe smoke in and hold it, seeking disconnection. With each hit, I pull back, disentangle and cut myself adrift.

Pete's phone goes off, twice. I make my eyes focus long enough to see lines crease his forehead. He rubs his chin, and I look away because Kim's here, somewhere, and so is everyone else. I know who he's talking to.

I lean my head back and stare at the cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling. My awareness swims with want for total abandon. I can feel Vic's eyes, not letting up and I hear Pete's phone go off again with a message from my sister.

_Who may or may not be with my girl._

_Who doesn't even really want to be my girl._

Synth beats blur with melodramatic minor chords and I don't want to be here, but I can't go the only place I want to go, because I'm still angry enough to break beautiful bones.

I don't want to be here.

I don't really want to be anywhere.

And I can't even go home.

Unable to sit any longer, I stand from the sunken love seat and walk from the living room to the kitchen, toward the back door, on my way out again.

Anywhere.

It doesn't matter.

Just away.

It's practically pitch dark when I open the door, save for the faintest hint of slivered silver-moon light. Freezing sleet rains down on all sides of the rickety awning above me, making my vision want to focus even less, but I don't miss her.

The stranger to my right is a burning cherry and rising smoke, and I know she is a she without seeing any more of her.

She's silent, spindling toxins and I want that.

I want to _be_ that.

The weight of how much absolutely nothing fucking matters consumes me wholly, and I step in her direction.

"Can I have one of those?" I ask, walking to where I can barely sort of make her out.

Abstracted and almost invisible in the lack of light, she's perched where the side and front porch rail make a corner and she blows smoke up, toward where the sky would be if we weren't covered. I can't see her eyes or much of her face at all really. Between the dark around us and my own haze, my eyes barely bring a pale throat under two tiny-beaded necklaces and pursed, poison-breathing lips into focus.

"Sure," she says, messy chopped black falling over her features as she ducks her head, and pulls a pack from somewhere. She passes me a stick and sparks her flame. The curve of her cupid's bow stands out in the small orange glow.

As I lean in, I catch her scent in the cold and wet. She smells like cough syrup and drywall, like rust and spoiled apples and nothing good.

I give my lungs cool smoke as I lean away, not to be further, but in an effort to better see her. But I can't. I can't see anything but her mouth, full of smoke.

It's so easy.

I laugh as I turn, stepping toward the edge of the porch to watch the freezing rain fall - not to be away, but to ignore her. Because it's the last thing she wants. And I know it.

It's dark all around, and quiet save for the sleet. Her silence says she doesn't care, and cold wind blows through me and between us, but ready, willing, and eagerness lingers.

My cigarette is almost gone when I hear shifting behind me. Illusory like a shadow, it's the sound of bare legs uncrossing and crossing again.

I don't even have to try.

All thoughts of leaving this place are long forgotten. I want to be in exactly this moment. I want to be buried and covered and taken all the way by right now.

Flicking the dead stick, I blow smoke out into the night. I hear her exhale and she sends her little ember flying past me, out into the darkness with mine. So small drops of ice water meet my nose and cheeks. My skin recognizes the cold, the wet, but neither goes through.

There's more shadow shifting behind me. Darker, it's less elusive this time, less of a sound and closer to the feel of simple instinct. It's the whisper of bare legs uncrossing and this time, remaining uncrossed.

"Come here," she says.

Her voice scratches the moment. I don't want her to talk.

I turn, unable to really see her, but I take steps toward where I know she sits. As I close in, I catch the dim silver, more pewter shadow slips of her ankles and bare heels. Her feet sway slowly, and her knees are just parted, not wide enough to fit me.

She smells sterile and filthy at the same time, like rubbing alcohol and sordid, squalid regret. She smells like the ebbing of life, and I want to know what the valley of the shadow tastes like. There's a pull about her that I feel commonality in, sameness, and I want to blind myself in her dust and ashes.

I feel her small sole slide against my right knee through my jeans, but this isn't hers. I nudge her foot away, and recognize it's cold like the sky falling around us, and it's just as insensible.

I speak low and even, the last words I want to say. "Give me another cigarette."

Her feet continue to slowly swing, and she sort of sighs, but she takes the pack out again and reaches to hand me one. I stand still, feeling her fingers brush my stomach and side through my layers as she searches for my hands. When her creeping tips touch my right thumb, I take the stick and bring it up with my lighter.

I breathe the smoke in and continue to stand still, within her grasp. I exhale through my nose, and when I inhale again, I can feel her scent like megadeath in my chest and in the atmosphere all around me. I can feel her heart, working without wanting to.

Every beat is an atrocity, unfit for goodness.

Licking my lips, I take a step closer to a pulse that sounds so like my own feels, like a wish for the end. The insides of her naked knees press and brush up against my hips. She shifts and opens, and breathes, and I don't have to do anything. I just want to drown, and she's all-encompassing.

From behind her, the wind blows icy rain across us both. I purse my lips, and breathe formaldehyde filled smoke across hers as I lean down.

Her mouth is soft, soaking-cold solace. Her kiss is an open grave, worm-eaten and welcoming, and I tilt her head back, wanting to tuck myself in.

My cigarette is gone and we're moving, stumbling and falling. One of her clammy hands leaves my neck, and I feel her, fumbling for the door behind me.

But I want to stay out here, in the freezing wet dark. I don't want to see. I want only this.

I push her hand and step, pressing her against the door and myself against her. Snow-bitten fingertips move back to my neck, under my hood and push it off. She lifts her left leg first, then her right, and part of her is not cold. The heart of darkness burns, and I grip with my fingers in as I push myself closer into her.

We turn, grasping, kissing deeper, falling further. Her mouth is bottomless and dangerous feeling, and I want her to engulf me.

I want to disappear, and she's oblivion, opening.

When she slides her fathomless lips and tongue from mine, I immediately want them back. But she bends and kneels, just like she should, and I welcome her descent.

I feel her pulse over my own as she covers me with her mouth and takes me into herself. Every part of me is hard, and every part of me throbs to the cumbersome beat of a purely self-seeking heart.

I feel every suck, every swallow, every perverted hum. She takes me all the way, and holds me under until I can't breathe.

I am not her first or her last, any more than she is mine, but she envelops me, and I let her. I revel in soft suffocation and bask blindly in the sweet sightlessness she offers. And when she slides her lips to the base of my cock and swallows one, two, three times, I groan; it feels so fucking good.

The breath I take in when she releases me tastes frost burnt and dirty, like autumn acid rain. Her hands are all over me, no longer so cold, stroking as she kneels up. She stands, dragging teeth and sticky tongue along my neck, pushing.

I push in the same direction and we fall further still, together down onto the couch. The scent of mildew and wet ashtrays rises as we sink together, stifling my senses. Her shadow weight rocks on top of me, but I want more. I want inside, and I know she'll have me, because death is like this.

Dripping.

Salacious.

All-taking.

Damp-hot cotton divides us from one another, but she slides and presses and strokes heat along me. I can't see a thing, but I close my eyes just to focus on and give over completely to the brimming, burning rhythm.

My hoodie's gone. She pants against my chest, through my tee-shirt, and I grip her hips, rocking her harder, pulling a raspy whimper from her throat.

She sits up and rolls her weight, girl-soft and shameless, against me. I feel indulgent pleasure vibrate in my stomach as I rock with her, welcoming dark, complacently lost until she shifts.

And I feel her hands.

I feel her pushing bothersome, lust-soiled fabric aside and moving to lower against me.

I grab her left arm and grip her hip, irritated that she's pulling from her depth and out of the moment. I don't say anything as I sit up, pushing her down onto my thighs while I reach for my wallet. She doesn't say a word as she takes the condom from my hands and puts it on me with her mouth.

Her cunt is fever hot, furnace burning and hemming me in circles. I grip her stomach, under her shirt, and ride enfolding, faceless, silk-slick wrongdoing as she rides me.

Every time she lifts, I breathe pitch black.

Every time she comes down, my stomach coils tighter.

Every thrust is an irreversible, unforgivable, completely conscious sin that twists and thrills, and fills me with miserable, insatiable lust.

My awareness falters and fumbles.

The girl with the pale ankles and a mouthful of smoke leans back, spreading her legs further, taking me deeper. She moans and her voice is the only part of her that's not soft. It's like fiberglass in my ears.

She slows down, way down, and I hear my own moaning too. She slides, God-awful and delicious and torturing.

It makes me dizzy in my clouds.

I blink, but can't see any more with my eyes open than I could closed. I hold on, meeting her slowly swallowing movements, but it's not enough.

I thought she could lead me where I wanted to go, but she isn't. My stomach is knotted painfully tight, and I want to come.

I turn her, and she moves more than compliantly, obscene sounds leaving her mouth as I push her top half into the couch and rise to my knees behind her. My stomach turns as I push inside, and she calls my name.

I don't know hers, and no part of me wants to.

I press a face I've never seen into dirty cushions, and clench my eyes closed.

I move without consideration.

I dig to forget, to disappear again.

I fuck with greedy, desperate intent.

And she comes.

And I hate it.

But I rock deeper, harder and harder, because I want to die.

I press down on her skinny back bone, right between her shoulders, and hold her hip so tightly my hand starts to cramp. She moans dark ecstasy and the start of my name over and over, and I want her to shut the fuck up and just take it, because this is wrong, and I know it, but I push.

And push.

And push with all of my muscles, feeling my anger in my throat more than I hear it, because I need to fucking come, and I can't.

I fucking can't.

Hatefulness consumes, and I push nameless and faceless away from me. I curse and stumble as I pull myself back, kicking whatever's nearby off the porch, out into the night.

I follow, blind in the dark, running on nothing but unaccommodating momentum and the sour taste of malignancy. Cocaine whispers and Bliss-ful assurances cloud together inside me, mixing up my steps.

I don't know how I make it to the Lincoln.

.

.

.

Less than twenty four hours later, I'm standing in my own bathroom with still no word from Bliss, and she's right down the hall.

I sniff. I rub my nose.

I still don't know what I'm doing.

Bella and my sister showed up a few hours ago. I was in the kitchen, filling a glass with crushed ice when I heard the front door open. I crunched two pieces between my back teeth just as they turned the corner with jackets still on and Starbucks coffee cups in their gloved hands.

Al rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she pushed her hood off.

B left hers up, watching me. I met her still so mad eyes for a second, then just let her stare, because even though my pulse was suddenly racing for home, fuck her.

She kept me in the dark for days. She can come to me every bit as easily as she thinks I can go to her.

"Do mom and dad know you're home?" Alice asked.

I laughed, tipping the cup of ice back for another piece. "What do you think?"

I walked past love without a look, let alone a word. Not acknowledging her was easy. It was not kicking the island over, grabbing her by the arms and jerking the truth out of her that was difficult.

I sniff again, pushing a hand through my second-shower damp hair.

The only thing that kept my anger checked in the kitchen, was knowing.

My pulse wasn't the only one affected when Bliss-baby walked in. Just like in the hall at school the other day, just like when I pulled her out of her princess bubble and into street light four years ago, just like when I brought that fucking lizard to her and Ally's picnic table when we were kids -

We've never not been this way: deeper than bones, soul-attached.

I realized it first, but I knew she felt it too, because the same cadence flows through both of us. I've always felt her current. We're cleaved at the heart, bound by rib-caged, fist-shaped muscles that beat our blood to the same tempo.

Livid as I still was, and still feel inside, I resisted the want to shake her downstairs. I didn't even look at her again as I left the kitchen, because I know.

_She's mine._

_And she'll come to me._

_Tonight. In secret, because that's how she wants us._

_And she can work for her fucking shakes. _

_She can earn every ounce of forgiveness, just like she makes me._

I'm in the bathroom, cutting coke into two skinny lines when I hear my bedroom door open and close, and I know it's her. My codependent rhythm tells me so.

Licking my lips, I listen for a minute, loving the fact that she's here. Even though she's a liar. Even though I'm still so raw. Even though there are a million reasons why she should be anywhere else.

I push my hand through my hair once more as I lower myself to use.

I rub what's left of _her_ from the edge of my sink, along my top teeth with my thumb. I wash my hands and stand up straight, glancing my born-in-black eyes in the mirror before I open the door to my ends and means.

Her back is to me while she looks through the mess of unfilled-out applications on my desk. She's beautiful-soft looking with her red-blonde pulled up messy-high, and tiny purple flowers printed all over her white sleep tank. The top of her gray sweats are rolled down, revealing just the littlest bit of her back, and for a second I just want to wrap around her. And breathe together. And love.

For just a second, I just want to be held in love.

But then I hear _"It's a school night, Al."_

And _"I don't want to be with you anymore."_

And _"I deserve more than you are to me." _

And every _"no"_ she's ever uttered, and I can't.

So, I step.

And she doesn't turn.

I step.

And she still doesn't turn.

I step right behind her, and over her shoulders, I can see her chest, rising and falling with quick-steady breaths.

My fingers close, containing the urge to grab and grip.

My arms tingle-sting, sore to encircle and fold closer, and hold onto.

And my stupid, stupid heart that never fucking learns -

_She's a liar._

_She's a fake._

My hopeless, unwanted fucking heart still flutters at her nearness.

Bella turns slowly and looks up. She stares into me, right into me, because chemically numbed as I am, I'm still ripped wide the fuck open.

But she is not. Her defenses are high, and mean, and love-withholding. She's miles from backing down.

I can't help looking from her eyes to her mouth before I snort, breaking three-day silence before turning away. "This is fucking stupid."

Walking around her, I sit in my desk chair and open the first book my hand finds. It doesn't matter which one. I'm behind in every class, and baby didn't come here to say she was sorry, or that she wants this.

She stays put for a second. I feel her. I feel how stubborn and stupid and wasteful this is on both our parts.

Then she turns and leaves without a word, and all I feel is missing.

.

.

.

Sleeping with _her_ is fickle.

It's impossible to ever know how long I've been unconscious because it always feels like just a few seconds. I have no idea how long I've been drifting when I hear my door open again.

But I know right away it's love, and she's come just like I knew she would.

I blink and squint, leaning up onto my right elbow as baby girl slips into my room. I catch her moonlit outline in the glow coming through my window as she climbs onto my bed and crawls to me on her knees.

In the barely illuminated, earliest hours of morning and the haze of my half-sleep, I swim in the scent-feel-sound of love: honey-dipped tea trees, pajama softness, and small, needful inhales.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, crawling on top of me, kissing my chest through my tee-shirt. She pushes it up my stomach, where her tears make contact and cut like razors. I roll through solace under her though, and hold her close, because her cries are the first thing that have felt right in days.

"I'm sorry," she says again, kissing my heart through my skin, sending me further spinning, deeper swimming.

I'm dizzy in the very best way, and I groan as she kisses my stomach. It growls for nourishment, and she cries harder. She kisses softer, surrounding me in her warmth.

Living goes from stakes and pains, to utterly effortless.

I push her shirt up and off too, and let my hands find the full little curves of her belly and breasts in the semi-dark. She's cozy-warm, and home-welcoming, and perfect, perfect, perfectness. She presses and slides, and rocks softly, and need that I've carried for longer than I can remember aches hard against her so precious center.

"You know nothing happened," she whispers. Her tears have stopped, but her voice is still so sad. I know she's telling the truth, but I can hear her guilt just for going... for this, and I can't help it, it makes me unimaginably harder.

I shape my hands around her back cheeks, and press-slide her against myself, groaning again, this time in satisfaction. And love. And need.

Baby whimpers through her bit-to-keep-quiet lips, leaning down to hold onto my shoulders. "You know I love you. You know it," she says, kissing my chin. She doesn't fight the heavy-steady pace I'm building, but her voice strains. "Tell me you know it."

I turn my face away from hers, not ready yet. She moves in turn. She sits up, and I think she's going to let me feel her. I think about the rest of our clothes coming off, and my body throbs at the thought of sliding along her softness, soaking in where I need so badly.

But she doesn't stand, or take anything off. She shifts lower, kissing her way down my stomach. She kisses my fucking belly button and lower, over the waistband of my boxers.

My pulse rushes, and I'm deaf to everything else for a second, but I don't stop her. I'm curious, and I want.

When she pushes my boxers down and wraps her hands around me, my whole body rocks for her touch. She kisses my hip bones, and lower, above the base of my cock. She brushes kisses all around it, and I still don't stop her. Baby's luscious and penitent affection feels better than anything.

Leaning up onto my left arm, I cover her hand with my right, and hold my cock for her amends-seeking.

Love opens, and her lips are the softest, sweetest sensation ever.

Her first few kisses are beyond gentle, and so warm. She kiss-licks with sincerity and truthful, laid-so-fucking-bare want. I'd be insane to close my eyes, but even if I could, there's no way I could see anyone but crazy-beautiful, soulmate-baby on the backs of my lids. No way any part of me could be anywhere in the entire world but right here, right now.

Love makes my fucking fingertips tingle.

I lean back further, letting her say she's sorry with her soft-open kisses. She moves her hands to my hips, learning me with her lips while she shows me with her tongue all the love there are no words for. She kisses me deeper, and nothing compares to Bliss's open mouth, all over me.

When she leans up to take a breath, I stroke from base to tip and back again, watching her watch me.

When she meets my eyes in the night-glowing dark, she smiles, first-time shy and full of true-loving.

When my chest fills so full-up it's hard to breathe, I love the pressure. I love how baby girl fucking gets me.

Nothing even comes close to this. I've never, ever felt like this.

Tucking stray strawberry blonde behind her left ear, Bliss touches her tongue to me and hums. It's the same sound she makes when a song she loves shuffles on in my car, the same sound she smiles when I wake her with collarbone kisses. It's the same sound she exhales after I've tickled her breathless and I finally ease up.

_She likes it._

I grin so fucking high I feel it behind my eyes, and for the first time since she opened for me, I let my lids fall under pleasure. I hum too, but I can't quite close my lips; so it's more of a moan. Love takes me deeper, and sucks so soft, so heaven fucking soft I could die.

_I'd die for her._

_She knows I would._

The thought pull-twists my stomach and all my muscles, and every one of my nerves, and I'm close. My spine burns, and hot chills slide down the back of my neck. I shake inside, and open my eyes, leaning up. I look down to see pouty made-for-kissing lips wrapped so pretty around me, taking almost half, and I want to fucking melt.

Love looks up, trust-open and love-ful, vulnerable and so unselfish. She lets me see just for a second before she bats her lashes.

And swallows.

And takes my doubt, beleaguerment and ability all together with her.

I stroke slowly with my right hand, right up to her lips, and my vertebrae liquefy one by one. Ache dissolves into rapture, and I hear my voice before I can think, without even thinking -

"Baby, baby, Bliss..."

She hums the same as when I pulled her from my ice-cold window I don't even know how long ago. It's a sound that's devoured by yearning, and pleading, revealing ocean deep desperation to be found and loved, and forever-kept.

"Bliss, fuck -"

Everything within me stretches and struggles, and when she slides her lips to the head of my cock, and covers the tip with countless little suckling kisses, everything escalates. No one's ever touched me quite like this, or loved me like this, or _can be this except Bliss._

For a second, I go where nothing hurts or has ever hurt, and then in the next, relief rushes from behind my eyes and down my back so fast, so uncontrollably, it's frame-shaking.

Love shifts and covers me with soft hot lips, holding me with both her hands. Her hum-sounds echo in my ears and around the head of my cock as she makes every effort to kiss, and swallow, and lick, and swallow more, and kiss more, and accept all of me.

She's still adoring and I'm riding the last of my shudders when her chest-swelling, heart-entering, soul-filled and high-spirited-in-love laugh vibrates through her and into me, in-between kisses.

For the first time in days, I smile.

I can't even help it.

That sound consoles, encourages and enlivens. Love's easy peace of mind revives me like nothing else.

_I love that sound._


	26. Same Old Dance

**We do not own Twilight. **

**Special thanks for Florence and the Machine for doing cart wheels in her honor and dancing on tip toes, and for this: **_you came over me like some holy life,__ and although I was burning,__ you're the only light._

**Sarah, the girl with the heart shaped tattoo. **

**Lovelybrutal, you're the best beta – slash - in between ever. **

**Shooting love arrows into everyone who's reading! Thank you so much for the reviews and the discussions that take place across the board when we update! Good, bad—love us, hate us … we're grateful. **

**I hated that I had to split this chapter into two. **

"Why is patience so important?" "Because it makes us pay attention."**― **Paulo Coelho

**Marcus Foster – Same Old Dance: **_It's the same old dance. The same old fire that makes it safe through the night, just to feel that you are not alone.__  
><em>

_Not alone  
><em>

_She'd been up and down the shiny stairs. Shadows only seem to care. Corridors are made for tears  
>seen them fall down through the years. We're up the garden to the door. I see the face that I once wore, tell me time is made of all the things you leave behind. <em>

_Leave behind. _

_Leave behind. _

_Leave behind. _

**Chapter 25 - Isabella Bliss **

"Bella, you have to push in the clutch before you shift gears."

"I did!" I stop the car—stall the car—again. "I give up. I can't drive."

"Calm down," Edward groans, pulling at the front of his hair.

"You calm down," I let out, placing my hands back on the steering wheel. I look straight ahead, because if I look at Edward, I might hit him. He offered to teach me how to drive, but he has no patience. Frustration is radiating off of him."You're making this too hard on me, Edward. I should ask someone else."

Edward unbuckles his seat belt; I can feel his glare. He's pissed. Good. So am I. We've been stuck in this car for over an hour, jabbing at each other with dirty looks and stupid words. It was only a matter of time before shit boiled over and the fighting started.

"Like who, Bliss?" He opens the car door, kicking it when a breeze shuts it on his leg. "Call that motherfucker. I guarantee you he won't make it out of his truck."

He gets out and slams my car door. Hard.

Mom and Dad bought me a car. It's cute. It's me. A white, drop-top 1981 Volkswagen Rabbit convertible. It's clean and precious, and it's all I have, so he doesn't need to slam the door so hard. I don't treat what I have like shit. I'm considerate and grateful, and this is mine, not his. Not everything is about him. This is about me.

I rip off my seat belt and open my own door. Cold November beach air smacks me in the face the moment I step out of the car. It stings my eyes and burns my cheeks, but the smell of driftwood and salt takes me to better times: ditched school days and secret-stolen kisses in a spot just for us—our dock.

The First Beach parking lot is empty, like he knew it would be. It's why we came here. I have all of the room I need to learn … to screw up if I need to. Edward's so fucking intense all of the time, though. I should have known this is how it would turn out. I should have known that he wouldn't be able to sit in a car with me for an hour without freaking out.

He's pacing with the beach wind blowing through his little-bit-too-long hair. He has a cigarette in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He's probably calling Dimitri. Edward must have run out of his slut already.

"Hey!" I call, walking after him. He doesn't listen, though. He hangs up his phone, looks back at me with sinister-deep-dark colored eyes, which match the night sky, and lifts the hood from his hoodie over his head before turning back around.

I stop chasing him and lift my own hoodie hood. I've had this sweater for years and it's still my favorite. The cotton isn't so soft anymore, and Edward's last name is fading from the back, but it doesn't mean any less to me. I feel protected in it. Loved. Because it was a gift that came from a good place … before everything was so complex. And sometimes, when I'm in bed and Edward is out doing whatever it is that he does, it's all I have to feel close to him. It's all that I have to remind myself that Edward wasn't always this way. That there was a time when we were innocent and genuine, and young-stupid-in-love.

"I'm going home. I'm not doing this with you," I say loud enough for him to hear me. I spin and start walking back to my car.

I didn't sneak out of my house for this. It's cold and after midnight, and I hoped we could do this together. I risk everything for this stupid boy and he takes advantage of me every time. He takes my heart for granted. He just knows I'll always be around, no matter what. No matter what I hear; no matter how many times he chooses _her_ over me; no matter how many times he slams my car door.

Love is never breaking completely.

That's our deal.

I don't look back as I slip into my Rabbit. I reach for my seat belt and scream when it gets stuck. I pull, pull, pull, but it doesn't let go, so I give up. I place my forehead on the steering wheel and take a breath. _One. Two. Three. _For a second, my mind drifts to thoughts about Garrett. _"Small, sweet, so delicate; you're a dying breed,"_ He always knows the right thing to say, and it isn't an act. It's truth. He's a literal person. A part of me likes it; I melt. But another part, the biggest, most important part, is screaming for me to run away from him and his always-correct-words. My mind agrees with Garrett, but my heart will never accept him. Ever.

When I'm collected enough to try my seat belt again, I pull and it works. I click it in and turn the key to start the car. It stalls. Trying to remember what Edward taught me before he got too mad to continue, I push in the clutch, making sure it's in neutral, and try again. This time it starts and doesn't pop. My hands are shaking, though, and my mind won't settle. I can't focus on what I'm doing. I shouldn't even be driving like this.

And he's out there. Mad at me. Because I'm always throwing Garrett in his face even if I don't mean to.

Slowly, and as steady as I can, I release the clutch and put the car in first gear. I get about five feet before it pops and stalls, leaving me stranded and upset, and shaking and frustrated, screaming for it to just fucking work so I can leave this stupid parking lot.

My car door opens. "Get the fuck out, Bella."

I start and stall the car for the third time. I try to close my door, but Edward's in the way. He reaches inside, over me, and takes the keys from the ignition. I punch him in the shoulder.

_But he smells so good. So familiar. My troublesome boy._

"Get out of my car!" I hit and push, and grip and keep.

Edward lifts the emergency brake, ignoring my swings, and releases my seat belt. He grabs me by the front of my sweater, gripping onto cotton and sweet memories, and pulls me out from behind the wheel. I kick and scream, using lungfuls of salty ocean air for momentum.

"You're not driving my car!" I yell in his face; my voice lacks and falters. My cries lack conviction and determination. I can only ever be halfway mad at him. He disappoints me so much, but never _too_ much. I may as well be screaming, _"Drive my car and take me away,"_ because that's all he ever hears. It's what I really want to say.

"_You're_ not driving," he snaps, pointing his finger in my face. Cold, white air blows from between his lips. Behind him, waves crash and the tide rises. His grip on my sweater is firm, but harmless. He's guiding me, disguising it as a demand. I could pull away from him if I really wanted to. But that's the problem, I don't. So I let him drag me to the other side. "Get in the fucking car so we can go home." He opens the door and tries to push me in the passenger seat.

"I hate you." I seethe. I don't let him put me in; I fight back.

I turn around and set my foot on the frame. His arm is twisted and stuck between me and my sweater. Edward pushes, but no where near hard enough.

"You hate me?" he whispers harshly, in my ear. He lets go of my sweater and wraps both of his arms around my chest, spinning me away from the car, toward the beach. "I wish I hated you. I wish I could fucking hate you, Bliss, because this"—he squeezes me harder—"this is killing me."

I dig my nails into his hand. I can't hurt him physically. Edward's too dope-numb to feel, but it gets his attention, and when skin breaks, he lets me go. Four little crescent-shaped wounds bleed from his right hand. He shakes it off and laughs. "You're such a little girl," he says.

I boil—red faced, rigid, and angry. Edward got to me and he knows it, so he keeps going.

_He's beautiful this way. _

"You're a sixteen-year-old girl who has me stuck in this bullshit town." Edward laughs spitefully. He spits on the ground and pats his pockets for his cigarettes. "Do you think I like being here, Bliss? I stay for you. But you're so fucking immature and tender, and you keep reminding me of that little motherfucker—" He stops abruptly, taking in oversized chestfuls of much needed air. He pushes his hood down and pulls his hair. His eyes are crazy lost and completely consumed, and they wander, because they can't stay still.

I've lost him, and I won't be able to get Edward back until he calms down.

"Why are you doing this shit to me?" he yells. Edward drops his pack of smokes, and instead of picking it up, he kicks it. Then he throws his lighter into the sand. "Fuck!" he screams until his voice gives.

I stand silent and full-length, breathing in through my nose and out my mouth. It's not only tonight that got us here. It's years of trauma and frustration stacked and hidden, becoming too tall to push away anymore. A little trigger is all it takes and we end up like this, saying things we don't mean, taking our aggravation out on each other.

My arms are at my sides, and my heart pumps misguided love in my chest. _"This isn't how it's supposed to be,"_ it beats. _"But that's your boy__—aimless and __screaming for you."_

A few tears fall for him. I cry for Edward a lot … more than I do for myself. That's how love is, right? The other person is always first? It kills me to see him this way, and to know, maybe indirectly, that I had a role in this. I should have been the one to say no in the start. When his parents failed him, it should have been me to stand in and tell him that this is wrong. He has some void that needs to be filled, and he turns to drugs … and I don't know what to do anymore. It's too late to say, "Edward, this is a bad idea." It's too fucking late. Because if I do that, I'd be turning on him too—the only person he really has left. I'm the only one he trusts, and I have to handle that with care.

I do small things, like beg for him to stay with me rather than go out. I can my use power to manipulate our situation; I can make Edward feel guilty. Or I can make him feel like he's losing me in order to get him to do what I want. Right now, I can fix what's happening. I can calm him down and beg him to finish this with me. That way he won't follow through with the phone call he just made. They're small victories that only work some of the time, but they matter. And they add up.

Sucking in one more unsteady breath, I go to him. His hoodie is unzipped and his white tee is slightly blowing in the wind coming off the ocean. He's soaking in moonlight, making his already pale skin that much more albescent. His hands are in his pockets, but they shake still. He has a tremble that's always with him now, calmed only by my touch, and my voice. My love.

Edward looks at me from the corner of his eye, but he doesn't say a word, or move. I glide my hand around the back of his neck, placing my other hand on the side of his face. "Tell me a secret," I whisper in his ear.

His body relaxes.

"I don't want it to be a secret anymore, baby."

I kiss his jaw, then the corner of is lips. This is the part where I should say, _"It's too late. We're too wrong,"_ but I don't. Instead I say softly, "Do you really wish you could hate me?"

His arm hooks around my lower back. Edward turns his face in until our noses touch. Cold air passes between us, turning warm through our lips. His free hand slips under my shirt; his fingers push into my upper back. Frigid air kisses my skin.

I was doing this to make him feel better, but it has the same result on me. I fall into his hold, letting him carry my weight. His hands slips down from my back, to my side. Dilated eyes focus and affect, palpitating my heart. I slip inside of Edward's sweater, reaching around until my arms overlap. I hold hard and rock-steady, burying my face into his shirt until the smell of salt water is replaced with vanilla and heartbreak.

Edward chuckles. "Do you really want someone else to teach you?"

.

.

.

When you date someone like Edward, eventually, over time, you begin to keep track of time in a different way. Not in hours, or minutes … or in seconds, but in how many days at a time he's gone; how many hours it's been since you last spoke to him; how many minutes it takes him to apologize this time; the seconds until you see him next.

Seasons kind of, sort of blend. Holidays come and go. Months and weeks mean nothing. October. November. December. January—I don't remember anything about the actual time passing, but I remember how many weekends I spent alone in his bed because he didn't come home—five. I recall the hours I spent calling his phone over and over until he answered, and I remember how many minutes those conversations lasted before he said he had to go.

He always comes back. And I always know where he is, but his time away from me, from home, it's becoming more frequent. Two, three, four days at a time. And it's not easy being the only person who knows where he is. I have to sit back and watch his parents stress and his sister worry. He forces me to lie to them more than I already do, because when Esme asks Alice and I if we know where Edward is this time and I say no, I'm lying. I'm lying straight to her face, looking right into her blue eyes. And when I hear her cry, I could so easily ease her concern … but I never do.

"Come over tonight and eat cold left over spaghetti with me," I say softly, pushing blonde hair behind Alice's ear.

We're in front of the school … three weeks into January. It's cold; Alice's nose is red and her eyes are watering. She's bundled up in a yellow hoodie under a black leather jacket. She's typing into her phone, mumbling under her breath.

I know who she's trying to get a hold of. He won't answer her, though.

"Did you see him at all, Bliss? Like, at all today?" she asks, shoving her phone into her pocket. Alice picks her backpack up from the floor and hooks it over her left shoulder. "Because he was here. He drove me to school."

I bite my bottom lip and shake my head. Lie.

I tighten my cobalt blue scarf around my neck and button up my dark-gray pea coat to keep my hands busy. "He wouldn't just leave you here, Alice." Lie.

She's looking around the mostly empty school parking lot. The Lincoln isn't here. Edward isn't here. My best girl tries to stay strong in situations like this, but her anger only lasts for so long. And when a tear finally falls from her eye, down her cheek and over her lips, I hate him for this. I hate him for putting us all in this position.

"I'll drive you home, Ally," I offer, pulling on her backpack.

Alice runs her hand through her long, three days dirty hair. She keeps looking, hoping her brother will pull up in his car, apologizing for being late, and make this not another weekend where their family is calling hospitals and police stations looking for their runaway.

But ten minutes later, Edward still hasn't shown up.

Edward's eighteen, but he still lives with his parents, and he's still enrolled in high school. I thought after the second time he took off Carlisle and Esme would start laying down some rules to prevent this from happening again. Edward is getting worse, but they're still not doing anything. He's never sober anymore, and his moods are unpredictable at best. He misses school … he misses meals. It's in his face, thin and pale. His eyes are a constant black. He's home long enough to change, and then he leaves again. He shows up at my house at random times during the night, never in the condition to have been driving.

Sometimes Edward's sweet, and I can almost deal with him then. He'll be suffocatingly attentive. I'll soak it up too, because I'll need it. It's close to normal, not crazy sporadic. Other times madness lurks behind his black and anything will set him off. I have to be calm and careful. He's needy, and he needs to know he's loved, so I do it. I love him. But there have been a couple times he cannot be dealt with. Where he's too far gone to be reasonable. Those nights I have to shove him in my car and drive. Just drive.

I've driven all night for him. Until the sun started to come up and the sky was painted pinkish-orange. I drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on his thigh, only taking it off long enough to shift. I literally drove in circles, not once thinking about my parents or what would happen if they woke up and I was gone. On those kind of nights, Edward is my only concern. Keeping him by me, safe and collected.

That's only happened twice, though. Both times resulting in him "cutting back." Which only lasts long enough for him to get too sick and sneak into my room, where I'll hold him while he shakes and sweats, and he'll apologize and swear. _"I fucking swear, princess, I'll never do this shit again."_ Lie.

He never promises.

It's a cycle that takes away time, erasing seasons and special occasions and simpler moments where my biggest worry was hoping Alice never woke up while I was tiptoeing down the hallway.

I bite on my thumb nail, standing beside Alice, who has sunk to the ground. I open my mouth to offer her a ride again but, thirty minutes since the bell rang signaling the end of the school day and the start of our weekend, Petey comes strolling out of the school office.

He isn't any better than Edward, high and wandering, his eyes are pitch and his skin is white. He has his backpack on high and his hoodie hood up, with his Ray Bans in his hand.

The moment Alice sees him, she's up. "Where the fuck is my brother, Pete?" she yells, pushing her hand against his chest.

I run after her, catching up just as Alice is pushing Petey for a second time. Icy air bites my lungs, and my eyes water, not only from the cold, but because she's breaking me. I want so badly to scream, _"He's with Dimitri, Alice. It's who he's always with."_But I don't. Instead I reach for her hands to keep her from hitting Petey again.

He smiles and puts his shades on. "I don't know. Why don't you call him?" He looks right at me, smug and scattered.

Alice cries out, breaking my hold on her. Petey's smile wavers, but he holds his stance—indifferent and protecting.

"This isn't funny anymore, Peter!" she cries. Her backpack falls off her shoulder, onto the ground. Petey's stare follows it all the way down. He moves forward to get it for her, but Alice kicks it before he can. "You say things to me, but then you do this."

Alice walks away. I go after her backpack.

"Al," Petey calls out. I walk past him, after my girl. I don't look until he calls for me. "Hey," he says, deplorably.

I only give him my eyes long enough to show disappointment. Both in myself and in him.

.

.

.

Three more weekends. Two more drives. Hundreds of phone calls. Countless minutes of asking myself why. More lies than I can count. Too many seconds to bear.

March.

.

.

.

"Why are you here?"

"Leave with me."

I scoff. "No."

Edward scoots his chair a little closer, pulling mine to the side until I'm between his knees. "Don't make me beg, princess."

I drop my pen and push my calculus book away. I look over to him and try not to smile. His smirk is silly-high and contagious like whoa, and it looks so good on his face, I just want to nibble it off. Edward's hair is covered by a red Anaheim Angels hat. He has his sunglasses on because his sunglasses are always on. My boy smells like Big Red and cigarettes and vanilla-delicious. He plays with the ends of my strawberry curls, reeling me in.

I whisper because we're in the library, "I'm not leaving because I have to study, and you're not leaving because you have a game after school."

"I can make it a rule," he says slyly.

I smile back. "I like to break our rules."

"You like to break me." Edward kisses from my wrist to my elbow. He rubs my arms when he gives me goosebumps.

I roll my eyes and look around, making sure no one can see us. "Anyone can walk back here, Edward."

He pushes my hair away from my shoulder and kisses my neck. I turn in my chair, moving closer to him. Edward holds onto the side of my chin, pushing his thumb under my jaw to tilt my head back. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold onto his shoulders.

"Touch my cock, Bella," he says out loud. My eyes snap open and Edward laughs. He smiles against my skin, but grabs my hand and places it between his legs. "Do you think I give a fuck if anyone sees us?"

I make a noise of playful disgust and push him away. Edward ignores me and shuts my Cal book. "Leave with me before I go out to the lunch room and tell your boyfriend you like it when I finger fuck you from behind."

Edward stands up—red tee shirt, gray slim-straights, red and white vans—he makes my tummy thrill and my nerves move. My heart pumps tingles and my lungs breathe in want. I should smack him for embarrassing me, but it's hard to hide that I like it. I like his scandalous words and his dirty language. My boy makes me chill in the best kind of ways. It's exciting.

I sit back in my chair and let him pack my stuff into my white with pink hearts Jansport. I cross my arms and pretend to be mad. He doesn't buy it, though.

"Come on." Edward holds a hand out for me with my backpack over his shoulder.

I stand up on my own; eye level with his chin because I'm in wedges. I reach for his glasses. Edward tries to move his head away, but I get them off of his face before he's out of my reach.

"Fine. But I'm driving," I say, sticking his Ray Bans in the front pocket on his shirt. His eyes are dope-dark and broad, like I could just sink into them and never find my way out. Ever.

My boy drops his arm over my shoulders and leads us out the back. "Whatever you want, strawberry princess."

.

.

.

"Do you think anyone ever sees us?" I ask Edward as I pull out of the student parking lot.

Edward adjusts the seat, moving it back and forth until it's good, making room for his legs. He gets mad when someone else sits in the passenger seat and messes with its position. But it's not like I can say, _"That's Edward's."_ It's normally only Alice, anyway, but she's so short to his very tall.

After the seat is back to his liking, Edward places his left hand behind my headrest and messes with the stereo with his right. 'Love Hurts' plays softly through my old speakers; Edward turns it down to a hum.

"Maybe. Probably." He sits back and get's comfortable. "Go to my house," he says when I take a left toward La Push.

"No one's home?" I ask, looking in my mirror before making a U-turn.

The right corner of his mouth slightly lifts. "Nope."

We're quiet the rest of the short drive, which is fine. It's good. I like him in my car. I like Edward beside me, quiet, calm, and gathered. His fingers tap to the tune of the radio on the back of my seat. He rolls down the window and rolls it back up. Edward opens up my glove compartment and pulls stuff out: straws, napkins, an old homework assignment … his green Bic he left in here some night.

After rolling the window back down, Edward starts tossing Twinkie wrappers and other trash out. "Your car's a mess, babe," he laughs when I swat him in the chest.

The little bit of nervousness I always feel driving around with my guy is dissipated the moment I pull off of the highway and onto Edward's road. Being seen by my dad or another deputy on the highway is likely. I always wonder what I would do if Edward and I got caught. I don't know what I would say.

I park on the side, out of sight from the front of the house. Edward is out of the car the moment I turn the engine off. He waits for me beside the trunk with a smile and his hand.

"Come on," he says.

We go in through the kitchen door; the house is untroubled and lightless. All of the shades are drawn and the TV, which is usually on for noise, is off. Dirty cereal bowls from breakfast sit in the sink, and the coffee pot is half-full, forgotten and left on. Edward keeps a hold of my hand, guiding me though to the stairs.

I've been here a few times with my boy without the rest of the family around, but the quietness is something I can't get used to. It's irregular without Esme trotting around in her heels, or Carlisle in his office. I miss the music blaring from my best friend's stereo, and the stomp, stomp, stomping of the boys running up the steps to Edward's room.

This feels like sneaking around. Like we're really doing it.

The Cullen home doesn't feel like the same place I've visited and slept in over and over and over for the last six years. This feels new and taken and unbelonging. Like the walls are a different shade of white and the carpet is strange under my shoes. The air smells unusual, and even the items that are mine appear odd. Like my white Docs that are thrown in the hallway beside my best friend's open bedroom door.

I know they're mine, but like this, without my friend, I feel like I can't claim them as my own.

But all of that melts away as soon as I step inside Edward's bedroom door.

This place is that same; always stolen, secret, and concealed. This room never changes.

Edward closes the door with us inside, and it's easy to forget how tricky we're being right now. It's so simple to just fall back into our routine of things: low hushes and soft laughs. When we're here, our thoughts are only about one another. My best friend doesn't exist at school; my parents are far from my mind; it's only me and Edward and this convulsive love.

He pushes my hair over my right shoulder and kisses my neck. "I love you," he whispers, pushing my navy cardigan down my arm. It falls to the floor, and I sink into him.

I lean my head back against his chest and let him walk us toward the bed. He steps out of his shoes, keeping his lips on my skin, lighting me up. When my knees hit his mattress I feel more alive than I have all day. His touches are tenderly firm and effervescently alluring. My heart isn't beating blood through my veins, but sparks and fire and tingles and Edward.

My boy turns me around and places the palms of his hands on the sides of my face. He bends at the knees to look me straight in the eyes with his delightful-dark stare. He smiles, bent and sure. Edward presses his thumb against my lips. I kiss it. He pushes harder, until he pushes my bottom lip down. I bite him. He laughs.

With his hand on my chest, Edward pushes me. I fall to my back and laugh and stretch my arms above my head. I make angles in his blankets and pull the corner up to my nose. He takes my foot and unbuckles my right shoe. Then my left. They drop to the carpet with a soft sound.

I wiggle and stretch my toes.

"Lift," he bids carefully.

I place my feet at the edge of the bed and lift my hips. Edward places a knee between my feet and reaches under my baby-light teal skirt for my underwear. White lace brushes against my legs on their way down. They get stuck at my ankle, and we both laugh. I kick, kick, kick but they won't go.

"Stay still," Edward says, gripping my calf. He pulls away my unders and dismisses them with my shoes.

Under my clothes, pressing the palms of his hands to the insides of my thighs, he opens me up."It's better like this sometimes, you know," he whispers, slipping his leg off the bed until he's lower... "When I can't see everything, but I can feel."

Edward holds my hips under my skirt and pulls me to the edge of the mattress. He's above and between, where I can feel him hard under denim. His heart quick-beats beneath red cotton. I slip my hands under his shirt and slide up until he gets the point. His hat comes off first; then his shirt.

With each of his hands on his mattress beside my head, he leans in and kisses my mouth. I keep my eyes open because I love his face, pouty and hooded. My stomach dips and somersaults, and my knees come up, trapping him within me. I circle my middle against slim-straights and hold my arms around his neck. Edward's tongue parts my lips, and he strokes so hard my entire body shifts up.

I hiss against his kiss and then bite on his bottom lip until he groans and pushes again.

Edward reaches between us and brushes his knuckles over my center. The rumble in his chest curls my berry-pink toes and tingles the tips of my fingers. With his feet on the floor, he stands up and pushes my skirt around my hips until he can see me. Edward holds the top of my shoulder with his free hand, and with his other, he pushes two fingers inside. He isn't measured or soft or easing, but swift and heavy and unapologetic.

His hold on my shoulder prevents my body from moving up, forcing my middle to take the entire impact every time he pushes his fingers in.

My back arches and my knees fall open wider. I grip onto dark-gray cotton sheets and close my eyes while my face heats up and my insides prickle. Edward curls his fingers, but doesn't weaken his force. The sound and feel of his palm slapping my clit every time he thrusts in drives me wild. I push the balls of my feet into the mattress. I reach down and try to grab his hand, but he pushes me away. I bite my lip to stay quiet, but when he gets me … when warmth from my ache begins to contract and spread, I cry out louder than I knew I could.

My hips move on their own; circle, circle, spinning. My boy doesn't slow down once I start to come; he goes harder and deeper, and rougher. While I rock and roll through waves he caused, I hear him whispering, egging me on.

"Your pussy is so fucking pretty, princess," and "I can't wait to slip my entire cock inside of you." he whispers with a smirk. "I won't go slow either, B. I'll give you the whole thing, baby girl."

Edward finally moves his hand away from my shoulder. Tears fall from my eyes, sliding down into my hair. It's too much. I feel too much. I feel him at my heat, in my ear, around my body … at my chest. He pulls my white and navy blue striped tube top down and bites my nipple until I scream and clutch, and grip, grip, grip.

"I can't—" I begin, only to be cut off my his lips, and his tongue, and his hand at my center.

He pushes … so far, so deep, so into me. Edward touches and rubs and presses from the inside. His palm is pressed against my clit, where he doesn't move. He's still and strong and bold, and so fucking certain. But my body moves. My hips still lap and my muscles still squeeze. My lips still move, pleading, begging, "Please don't stop. Please, Edward, don't stop."

He drops to his knees.

Then his lips are where his palm was.

His tongue is where his fingers were.

My eyes snap open and I look up at the ceiling. My voice is stuck-lodged and my mind is momentarily clear.

Then I fall.

I reach down and tangle my hands into his hair. I lift my head and catch his eyes, but we only look for a second before we both close up and do and feel. I hook my left leg around his shoulders, ensuring he never leaves … he never stops.

Because there is nothing more beautiful than his lips on me.

He kisses my middle like he kisses my mouth, dirty, deep and long. I try to keep my hips still, but I can't. I can't keep them in place. I lift and push, feeling his chin and his nose and his laugh.

I smile and laugh a little too, red-flush faced and quivering.

With his fingers back inside, he kisses between my folds. Soft and puckering, he tells me how good I taste between mouthfuls. "You're sugar coated, baby. I knew you would be, Bliss."

And with one more hard push and deep kiss, my world spin-flips and I arch.

.

.

.

I can hardly keep my eyes open. I'm spent, tired and slack, and taken care of. On my stomach over messed up bed sheets, Edward pushes my hair over my shoulder and kisses between my shoulder blades. His fingers touch-tickle my sides, and his hardness is pressed against my hip.

He doesn't want to be touched, though. "Nothing could be better than that," he said after he came up from within my legs. "Just let it be like this."

I couldn't move after. I could hardly speak. Edward slipped my underwear up my legs and rolled me over before lying next to me. "Stay like this until we have to leave," he whispered.

So we have been, contently quiet and close. Except when he went into the bathroom with _her._ It's mind blowing how quickly I became accustomed to him using her. I don't like it, but I'm used to it. It doesn't surprise me that his eyes are dark and his mind is running. He's beside me, but his hands can't stay still, and he can't stop shifting.

I sometimes wish he would keep that bitch hidden from me like he does with everyone else, but there's comfort in knowing he uses around me. It's become like everything else. Like a cigarette. Like any of his habits—it's just another part of Edward. And it's sick and contorted, and I wish I was brave enough to ask him to stop, but if he has to use, I want to know when and how and where. I want to be included, even if it's only though the door.

I can't handle not knowing any part of him.

"What if I did it?" I ask. My lips barely move, and I don't even bother opening my eyes. "Would you be mad, concerned … regretful?"

He smiles sinfully against my lower back where he was placing little tiny kisses before I spoke. "You wouldn't."

"But what if I did?"

Edward lays his head down in the center of my back. I bring my arms up and lie my head on my left elbow.

"I don't know, B. It's not something I can even consider. It's not you."

I lean up and look back. His dilated eyes shift up. "It could be me. It's not like it's hard to get."

Edward rolls onto his back beside me and covers his eyes with his forearm. His bare chest rises and falls with steady breaths. His jeans are low, showing his boxer briefs. I have a silly thought about sticking my finger in his belly button. I want to touch the hair that leads below the waistband of his dark green Fruit of the Looms.

He lets his arm fall and looks right at me, sucking me with his dark blacks. "If you ever did it, I'd stay with you until it was over. Until you felt better and your eyes were clear." He smirks. "Then I'd find who gave it to you and break their fucking neck."

.

.

.

With my new car came new responsibilities and more trust from my parents. They let me drive myself to school, and back and forth from Alice's on the weekends. If my mom needs milk from the store, she asks me to go. I'm not allowed to drive out of town limits, but it's a new freedom I wasn't expecting from them at all. And like history has proven so far, what they don't know won't hurt them. So as the school year goes on, Edward and I do things we never have before. We drive to Port Angeles and go to the movies, or out to lunch and dinner out of town. We go to the beach during the day, or we'll fill up the rabbit and drive until the tank is almost empty.

It's not hard to cover my tracks either. If I know Alice is going to be out with Jasper, or "her mom," I swoop up the opportunity to be with Edward. I lie to my parents and say I'm going to study with a friend. Mom really never even asks for a name. I think a lot of the time she assumes it's either Alice or Garrett.

But alone time, not-so-hidden has been good for Edward and I. It's nice to be able to go out and just be together, without really covering our tracks. There's always a degree of caution, but things are changing and the people around us are changing, becoming more busy in their own lives, and we're not so hard to keep concealed anymore. Ditching school is fine every once and a while, but secret Saturday afternoons at the dock are better.

I mean, on the Saturdays he actually sticks around.

Nothing about my boy changes as cold weather turns into warm. The school year is almost over and he still hasn't decided what he wants to do after graduation. Baseball. Edward wants to play ball, and that's as much of an answer as anyone's going to get from him.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bliss. You still have another year of school, so I'll just play ball at the JC or somethin'," he'll say. His pockets are fat and he's having a good time; he's set. "Don't have to worry about this shit now."

Meanwhile Ben got into Washington State and Petey got a job at a body shop in La Push. He's indecisive about college, but at least he's attempting to make arrangements. Even Alice is all about continued education. She's aiming high—California: UCLA, USC, UC Berkeley, San Diego, Santa Barbara. Some of the time it's too much to think about. I try and act excited, but the thought of California makes my stomach flip.

I don't even know if we'll be friends anymore.

Mom makes small comments like, "Your dad and I have been saving, Bliss," and "It's not that we don't want you to live with us forever, but..." So I look up colleges online when I know she's looking, and I send out for information to show Alice that I'm on the same page as she is, because next year, it'll be us graduating, not the boys.

It's a surreal actuality that's coming closer to being my life. Once we're out of high school, there won't be grounds to lie anymore. They'll all know. And then what? Will Edward and I just take off like we've always planned? Where the fuck are we even going?

"He asked you?" Edward takes a drag from his cigarette. He doesn't look at me. Instead he stares straight ahead into the forest of trees in front of his house. He's rooted, with the exception of his hand which flicks his cigarette, and his chest that inhales and exhales thick smoke into the springtime evening air.

"Yeah. Earlier."

It's Sunday night. My parents think I'm at a late movie with Alice, but she's actually at Jasper's. Carlisle and Esme are out of town and not expected to be back until tomorrow morning. Edward and I were supposed to spend the entire day together, but he was gone. Lost wherever the hell it is he loses himself.

And now he's mad, because instead of spending time with him, I spent it with Garrett. At my house, in front of my TV, drinking fucking apple juice. He even spoke to my dad.

"You're not going." Edward looks at me. There isn't room for an argument here. His word is final, and I don't feel like fighting.

"I said no," I tell him. I cross my arms over my chest and let my keys jingle from my finger. "I told him I wasn't going."

My boy flicks his cigarette into the air using his thumb. Red-orange embers spark and flake off, and his cigarette spins until it hits dirt. It doesn't go out right away, and the urge to step on it is almost as strong as the urge to tell Edward I wanted to say yes to Garrett is. But I do neither.

He's quiet, thoughtful in anger. I don't say anything either. Instead, I kick rocks with the front of my flip-flop and wait. Edward sticks his hands in his pockets. He pulls them out. He lifts his hat and runs his hands through his hair. He puts it back on. He looks at me, but doesn't say anything. He looks away.

Purple-blue veins in his forearms protrude, tense and uncertain. His jaw flexes and slacks. Edward, dressed in red skinny shorts and a gray shirt, is unreachable. I kick another rock and it hits the side of his shoe. He actually smiles, but it isn't real. It's delirious and dope-slanted.

"Did you think it would be okay?" he finally asks. "Like the concert?"

"I told you I said no, Edward."

He licks his lips and laughs. I act indifferent as Edward takes the few steps to close the distance between us. I look uninterested and bothered when he grabs my chin and forces me to look up at him. My heart is pound-beating from the inside of my chest, and blood is rushing through my circulatory system at a stinging rate, but I don't let him know any of that.

Love pushes my head back, exposing my neck. He turns my head to the left and then to the right, looking … searching, finding nothing.

"Were you with him?" he asks, releasing me.

"Yeah, I sat next to him on the couch." I slap his hand out from in front of my face.

Edward's looking at me, but he's not _really_ looking at me. It's not Edward behind this black; this is the person he turns into when she's got a hold of him. Cocaine's playing tricks, whispering untruths into his ear, making him paranoid and disillusioned. She's under his skin and in his bones, slithering and overwhelming, turning him into something he's not. Turning his thoughts and actions against me.

"You know what I fucking mean, Bella," he snaps.

Edward grabs my wrist and pulls me even closer. He smells the inside of my arm before burying his nose in my hair, and still, I act like I don't care. If I react too harshly, he'll spin out of control and there won't be much for me to do but sit back and wait for it to end, so it's better if I just go with the flow and bring him down easy.

"There's nothing to find, Edward," I whisper into his ear. I hold onto his bicep and let him smell and touch and look and not uncover. "I wish it was you. I wish it was you I was next to, but you were unreachable." I allow a little bit of emotion to slip into my tone. I hold onto his arm with more force and step up on my tippy toes until I can wrap my arm around his neck.

His body shakes. The hold he has on my wrist is too tight; I whimper, but keep talking so he thinks it's because of how he made me feel when he didn't call today. Which is mostly true.

"I don't want to go anywhere with him, but you're never here when I need you."

"Stop," he groans. I feel his teeth on my throat skin.

My hand is beginning to tingle and my fingertips are blood starved. "Where were you?" I finally ask. "Why are you always away from me?"

With my free hand, I pull the hair at the nape of his neck. I squeeze him tight. I hold him as hard as I can with one arm. And it's for the both of us. Edward's here and I have him, and I'm here and there is nothing on me but him.

.

.

.

Prom comes and goes. Alice went with Jasper, Lauren went with Paul, Rosalie went with her man from Brooklyn, and Leah went with this boy Tyler, but I faked the flu. Alice tried to talk me into it. She bought me Dayquil and Nyquil, chicken soup and cough drops. She even tried to take my temperature, but in the end she gave up, pouty lipped and feeling guilty about going without her best friend. And because I was "sick," I couldn't even help her get her ready.

Since pretending to be unwell was the only way out of going, I was stuck at home. There was no lie to tell my parents about studying or being with Alice. I was alone in my room, convincing myself I didn't really care.

Even Garrett ended up going.

I spent the entire night watching the clock. Alice texted me perpetually, hoping to make me feel better about being left out. She sent messages like, _my hair looks stupid because you didn't do it, _and _I hate these fucking shoes. We were supposed to switch, remember?_

At the actual dance, she sent me pictures. Photos of all of our friends, of her and Jasper, and of stupid things like the tacky disco ball that hung above the gym floor, and the fake flowers the school used as table centerpieces.

As each message came in from my pink haired pal, my heart sank lower and lower. The only thing keeping me from completely freaking out were the messages I got from Dusty in between. It was an odd place to be. A part of me was mad at him for making me miss the dance. All of my friends were there, and I knew that once school was over, I could never get any of it back. But the other half of me was content in knowing he was going to be with me after my parents fell asleep.

Edward's messages said things like, _I packed my blanket because I'm staying all fucking night, _and _Please tell me they're finally in bed?_

The dance was over by the time love stepped quietly though the back door. Alice was sending me whole new messages about the after parties and how Jasper was being weird, but they all went ignored until the next day when I woke up. My boy was with me, and his eyes were a lot more blue than they were ebony. We spent the night and early morning under his comforter, watching HBO to-go on his cell phone. We ate Snickers ice cream and whispered when we spoke so my parents wouldn't wake up. Prom didn't come up once, and I was glad it didn't.

Back at school that Monday, it was hard hearing stories about the monumental school dance, and it was all anyone was talking about. This person hooked up with this person, and that girl's dress was so ugly, and Garrett kissed Emily, the girl he went to prom with at the last minute.

"I mean, you guys aren't dating, right?" she said. I didn't even know she was in my Calculus class, but someone had told her Garrett was mine, so she thought she'd come to me before I went to her.

"No," I said, shaking my head.

Emily is a pretty-ish girl. Blonde hair, brown eyes, she's simple and semi-popular, and until that day, I never even noticed her. Now, I see her all of the time. She wears the same jean shorts almost everyday. Emily has freckles on her nose, but nowhere else. Her locker is on the other side of the hall, five down from mine. And everyone seems to know who she is, but not actually know her.

Except Garrett.

It's been two weeks since prom and I still don't know how I feel about the Emily-Garrett kiss. Alice says she's a skank, but she's not. And he's not wrong for kissing her either. They're cute together, and it kills me.

Not that they're together. Because they're not. But his lips were on hers, not mine … and it's disorienting.

I brought it up yesterday.

We haven't been talking much and he noticed, but Garrett isn't pushy. He won't be pushed, either, though. He asked me once if something was up and I said there wasn't, so he never asked again, true to his style. He's the suffer in silence type. Garrett always has been. His words are few, but his looks speak volumes, and I caught him looking at me.

His eyes don't puncture like Edward's do, and my body doesn't react when he's near. I discovered him looking at me yesterday by accident. I was actually searching the lunch room for red-brown hair, black eyes, and a crooked smile. Instead I found Garrett—tolerant and observing—waiting in line for lunch. When our eyes caught, he got out. Garrett took the chair next to my own. Metal scraped against tile as he pulled back blue plastic. He smelled like simpleness, like cut grass, grip tape and Carmex. Brown hair, brown eyes, charcoal stained fingertips.

"Hey," he spoke quietly.

I stopped looking around the lunch room. Not because Garrett was sitting next to me, but because I don't need my eyes to find Edward, ever. When he walks into a room I know it. My body knows it. My heart and lungs, and spine and nerves, know it. Everything sparks and straightens and comes-to when my boy is near, and after Garrett sat down, Edward came to lunch.

He even strolled past me and kicked a leg of my chair, spinning and pushing me away from my skater boy. "Princess kid." He laughed and kept on walking.

Garrett stood up, provoked. "What's your fucking problem, Cullen?"

Petey turned around and walked backward for a few steps; he laughed, like he enjoyed my torture. Edward didn't bother, though. My boy sat at a table on the opposite side of the cafeteria and ignored us.

Garrett set me and my chair back at the table while he kept his glare on my pusher. I tried laughing so none of my other friends would think anything was out of the ordinary. "He's such a jerk," I said, brushing it off. Alice wasn't around, so I didn't have to worry about her, and everyone else just filed it away as older brother stuff.

Garrett took his seat after placing my apple juice back in front of me, but his stare remained on the other side of the room.

Eventually he calmed, and when his eyes weren't so concentrated, I finally asked, "You kissed her?"

Garrett looked at me and paused before nodding with an unreadable expression.

With his hand on the back of my chair, we left it at that.

_What else was there to say? _


	27. A Decade Under the Influence

**We do not own ****Twilight.**** Epiphanies are fucking lame. **

**And this is too ironic. Do you hear that? It's splintering hearts. **

**YellowGlue, when you said "let's fucking do this," and then we did, I had no idea it would be this … **_**blissful. **_

**LovelyBrutal. Our Beta girl. **

**Taking Back Sunday – A Decade Under the Influence: **_Anyone will do tonight. Anyone will do tonight. Close your eyes just settle, settle. Close your eyes just settle, settle._

_Well, I got a bad feeling about this. I got a bad feeling about this. _

_I'm coming over but it was never enough. _

_I thought it through and my worst brings out the best in you. _

_I've got a bad feeling about this. (to hell with you and all your friends.)_

**Chapter 25 – Isabella Bliss. **

Everything feels like it's happening all at once.

I watch Edward try on his cap and gown, and help Esme lick stamps for Edward's graduation announcements. My boy plays his last high school baseball game and participates in the senior prank. He's signing year books and cleaning out his locker one more time. He's doing it. He's graduating. Despite how hard he made it, he completed this.

He's been busy. Between finals and graduation rehearsal, Edward and I see each other very little during the day. Ditching school is out of the question, but we have our nights on the phone, and the occasional night when he'll sneak over or I sleep at his house.

It's inspiring watching him experience this, like a natural high. And it makes me so excited for our future. Edward finishing school is the first step in the right direction—our designed path. One more year and we'll be what we've always talked about being: gone and together.

One.

_One. _

Since he's been so wrapped up in the end of the school year, his eyes are more sky than dark. He hasn't been clean, but _she's_ not consuming his system. He does enough to get through the day, and to me, that's a start. It has to be.

Esme's a wreck. The thought of her first born out on his own is crushing for her, no matter how many college applications she gives him. She won't admit it, but I have a sneaking suspicion she's a little bit relieved when she finds one of her efforts tossed out. Carlisle, on the other hand, has been laying it on thick, letting it be known that he isn't amused by Edward's lack of enthusiasm about life after high school.

"What the fuck are you planning on doing, Dusty?" he scolded his son last week. I stayed over for dinner and the table conversation somehow flipped from Dusty's new shorter haircut, to college.

The haircut surprised me; short on the sides and a little bit longer on the top, my boy looked good. And there was a kind of, sort of hope about it. Like somehow a stupid fucking haircut could change something. If he cared this much about looking nice for graduation, and all the effort he put into making sure commencement happened for him, maybe the last year was just a phase. Maybe things were really going to change. Because before then, I cut his hair when it got too long and it was never anything great, but that—the new look—I put a lot of freakin' anticipation in it.

And I was dazzled at dinner the other night. I tried not to stare, but I peeked and was impressed, and so in love, but when Carlisle suddenly voiced his concern, it ruined it.

Edward smirked. "I don't know, Dad." His tone was condescending and slick.

Esme tipped her wine bottle upside down over her wine glass, capturing every drop, and Alice dropped her fork, full. I kept eating my chili dog.

"You graduate in a week—a fucking week, and you've accomplished nothing." Carlisle pushed his plate away.

I took another bite.

"Not fair," Esme interrupted. "He's completed a lot."

Edward's father ignored his wife, so she drank what she had and got up to get another bottle. Edward looked up at his dad with semi-dark eyes; his forearms were on the edge of the wooden table and his fork was in his hand with a cut off piece of hot dog on the end.

"I have an appointment at Peninsula College in two weeks. I'll go there until I figure something out."

His confession surprised me more than the haircut did.

"You do?" Alice voiced. Her pitch was high and her eyes were wide in disbelief.

Carlisle snorted. "Junior college? You little, thankless mother—"

The argument lasted over an hour and resulted in Edward's departure. But he came back.

And tomorrow he's graduating.

"I'm nervous." Edward smiles in the moonlit car. His eyes are high hooded because he's lit. It's funny watching him run his fingers through his shortened hair; old habits die hard.

I scoot over, moving from the passenger side of the bench seat in his Lincoln to his lap. I set the back of my head against the car window and extend my legs out in front of me. The steering wheel hurts my side, so I reach under and pull the lever until the seat moves back. Edward places one hand on my thigh and uses the other to bring his Philly to his lips. Holding smoke in his lungs, he offers the blunt to me between his thumb and pointer finger. I shrug, so he places it to my lips—it tastes like oranges and sour citrus, smooth and glowing.

"Don't be," I say, exhaling. This time I take it from him and hold it myself.

"You'll be there." It's not a question.

His hand slips between my legs. I can feel my heart beating swiftly, and my eyes are hooded high, too. The car fills with smoke, so I don't need to hold anything to my lips anymore; I just need to breathe in smoke, sticky-sweet and mind changing air.

"Front row," I whisper, arching when his fingers push into me.

.

.

.

Alice and I made a sign that says "Dusty Delinquent" written in black marker and finger painted in glitter and gold, just for my boy.

We hold it up when his name is called, "Anthony Edward Cullen."

He walks on stage with an undeniable, so-Dusty swag. We jump and scream and shout his name. He sees me and I see him, and we're almost there.

_One more year. _

Even Mom stands and claps from the row behind me. Kim blows an air horn, and Charlotte pops confetti bottles. And we're all so happy.

My boy receives his diploma from the principle with a crooked smirk. My heart swells, pumping pride and relief. He doesn't wave at us, or hold up his accomplishment. He sticks it under his arm, takes the required picture with the man who has given him more detention than anyone cares to count, and walks on.

So simply over for him.

My eyes linger on Edward as he steps around the stage, dressed in a white cap and gown. His lips are curved, but other than that, he doesn't show much. Before I see my guy reach his seat, Petey's name is called. Alice and I drop Edward's banner and trade it for his: "Dumb in Blonde." And after Petey's, we hold up Ben's: "Italian Stallion."

He waves and holds up his certification.

Victoria and Mixie graduate, too. Alice wanted to make them banners that said "Slut you later," but I talked her out of it. I clap, even though I hate them, and when Mixie crosses the stage, smiling and wide eyed, I think about her stomach which never grew. I wonder, does she considers this worth it?

After all of the graduates are called and the caps are tossed in the air, it's over. Just like that.

Alice and I rush to find Edward after everything is said and done. I bought him flowers, orange peonies. I looked at the roses and lilies, and carnations, but after chewing on my bottom lip for twenty minutes at the flower shop, peonies won. The florist agreed when I said they're a flower a boy can value.

I got Ben and Petey sunflowers to be fair.

We spot Edward in the middle of the field, standing alone. His gown is unzipped, showing his pressed khakis and light blue button up shirt. His hair remains perfectly gelled and combed over, and his cap is in his left hand. He's looking around, not yet seeing his sister and I in a full sprint. She holds the sunflowers and I hold the peonies, but our hands are joined as we push through families to get to our boy; she, a few steps ahead of me.

The hem of my cream colored sweetheart dress skims my thighs, and my curled hair brushes my shoulders. My Ray Bans bounce on my face, and my wedges sink into the soft grass. The smile on my face is the size of the sun and just as bright. Our families are somewhere behind us, making their own way through the masses of people congratulating their own graduate.

When we get close enough, Alice yells, "Dusty!" She waves the hand that holds the sunflowers; a few dark yellow petals hit the ground. The green wrapping crinkles under her grip.

He sees us and his shoulders drop, like he's relieved. Edward takes a few steps in our direction, but we make it to him first—and jump.

Alice jumps in his arms, and when he spins her, I jump on his back.

My boy laughs and I feel the rumbling vibration in my chest. I kiss his face because I'm allowed to, leaving red lipstick all over his skin.

"I'm so proud of you," I whisper in his ear. Edward leans his head back, nuzzling his nose in my neck for the smallest of moments. But it's enough, and I know.

It's our deal, and love _is_ the smallest of moments.

Our families show up, and so do Petey and Ben. While Alice jumps all over them, I give Edward his flowers. "They're from my family and I," I say, telling him the truth with my eyes.

He takes them, using the same hand he's holding his cap with. Edward isn't awkward about receiving peonies from me. He says thank you and reads the small card before he's overtaken and outnumbered by family members and friends.

_Ask me again, _it says.

Between hugs and congratulations, Edward keeps his eyes on me. His Aunt Elizabeth is kissing his cheek, and his mom taking pictures. Even Carlisle is standing pleased and proud, illustrious beside his son, but Edward's eyes are all mine.

His smile is delirious and unwilling to wait. Edward, slowly but hurriedly, tries to make his way to me while thanking whomever is congratulating him now. He takes pictures with his family, and has quick goodbyes with friends. He wants to do this now—ask me now.

I smile, too, pressing my pointer finger against my lips. "Shh," I whisper, secretively. _Not now,_ I say with my gaze. _Not in front of __anyone. _

Edward's smile dims, and his eyebrows come together. He stops posing for pictures and pushes Esme's hand away from his face when she tries to rub his cheek. My boy takes off his gown and untucks his shirt, like it's suddenly too constricting.

"Can we go?" he asks. He's patting his pockets, looking for his pack.

I turn to my parents, who've already given their congratulations, and tell them I'm going over to Alice's for a while.

"We have reservations at Franchino's. You're more than welcome to join us, Renee." Esme slides her arms across my shoulders and tucks me into her side.

Dad smiles politely. "As good as Italian food sounds, Esme, I'm on duty tonight."

"Boo." She smiles. "Well, we'll take care of Bella. We always do."

We all walk to the parking lot together. Ben and his family, Petey and Rachel—who's in large sun glasses and baggy jeans—all of the Cullens, and my parents and I.

"Are you staying with Alice tonight?" Mom asks, twirling one of my curls.

"Yeah," I answer, looking around for my friend. We drove together so we could drive to the restaurant together, too.

She's standing with her parents and Edward, who doesn't look too happy. He's lit a cigarette and is talking with his hands. Alice crosses her arms over her chest, and Carlisle, who is projecting calm and cool, is boiling on the inside. I can tell by his fisted hands and stiff smile.

Dad kicks my front tire. "Do you need some money?"

I don't, but I tell him yes anyway. And just as I'm saying my goodbyes to my mom and dad, Alice and Edward walk over. The cigarette is gone, but the smell lingers on his clothes. My boy is always polite to my parents, but he's in a fragile mood and it shows. He's holding his flowers upside down in his grip.

Edward shakes my dad's hand and leans in to kiss my mom on the cheek. "Can I drive with you?" he asks me. His voice is short, and he doesn't look at me as he speaks.

"I guess," I answer, hoping my parents don't say anything. They still don't like the idea of me driving my friends around. Not that Edward waits for them to protest. I say yeah, and he walks away and slips into the front seat of my Rabbit. Alice groans and follows him to the car, arguing about how the front seat is always hers because she's my best girl.

"And you're just a stupid brother," she whines.

Edward doesn't move.

Ben and Petey drive with me and Alice, too, since we're all going to the same place. Once I pull out of the parking lot, Ben lights up. I watch him in the rear view mirror, and I know I should say something because it's my ass if we get pulled over, but when his hand comes between Edward and I from the back and my boy reaches for the joint, I stay quiet.

The three boys pass their vice around, and with my flowers on his lap, Edward noticeably chills out. He doesn't talk to me, but the scowl is removed from his face. He fucks with the stereo, which hardly works, and messes with the sun visor. Alice is in the middle of the backseat, laughing with Ben and Pete. And as much as I want to ask Edward what his deal is, it has to wait until we're alone.

"Drop me off at my house, princess," Edward says. He's still avoiding my eyes, but his tone isn't so short.

"Mom's going to flip," Alice says from the back.

Edward looks over his shoulder and smiles, but it's so untrustworthy. "I just want to get my car."

He's lying, and I know it.

"But we're almost there." I stop at the light and look over at my boy, who still won't look back at me. "Can't you get it after dinner?"

"No."

That's all he needs to say.

Since the top is down, Petey and Ben don't even wait for the car to stop before they jump out once I pull into the Cullens' driveway. The Lincoln is parked in front of the house, and I secretly wish it wouldn't start so he can't go anywhere.

"Thanks for the lift, kid." Edward smirks, opening the car door.

"Bliss, I'm going to run up and get my phone charger. Wait for me." Alice jumps over the side, and I turn the car off.

Since we're alone, I ask, "What's wrong?"

Edward shuts the door, with him outside the car and me still in it. "Nothin'." He reaches in for the flowers and picks the card off the stem. He folds it in half and sticks it in his pocket. "Put these in water for me, Bliss."

He drops the peonies onto the passenger seat and walks away.

In the time it takes Alice to come back out, the three boys pile into the Continental and pull out of the long drive way. They turn on the road, but not in the direction of the restaurant.

.

.

.

"Try his phone again, Esme," Carlisle lowly orders.

She drops her iPhone onto the table. Everyone tries to pretend they didn't notice the thump, but we all did. I spin my fork into my spaghetti with my own phone on my lap. Nothing.

"I tried ten times, Carlisle."

"Dad, he's not answering," Alice says. She sounds annoyed, like her parents should get a fucking clue already.

We've been here for over an hour. Esme called him for the first time twenty minutes after Al and I arrived. She was full of smiles and reassurances, positive her son would come to his own graduation dinner. After forty-five minutes, we ordered our food. After sixty minutes, Edward's mom's smile turned into a frown, and she started drinking her wine faster than they could refill it. Now, the plates are slowly being taken away, and no one is talking.

It's an awkward, uncomfortable silence, and no one wants to say what we're all thinking: Edward isn't coming.

Across the restaurant, Ben's family looks to be suffering from our same worries. Their party is bigger, with little kids running around the table, but other than Ben's nieces and nephews laughing, and his sisters trying to silence their children, they're just as quiet as we are.

I don't see Rachel, though. She must not have come at all.

Another fifteen minutes pass before Carlisle gives up and pays the bill.

On the walk out, Alice takes my hand. "I can't go home," she whispers into my ear. And I get it. It's not easy being the kid who's still here while the other is missing … run away—whatever. Edward doesn't get to see the sadness he leaves behind when he decides to disappear for a weekend. He receives the anger when he gets back, but that's nothing compared to witnessing the hopelessness like Alice does.

"We can go to my house," I say.

"No." She shakes her head. "I already called Jasper."

.

.

.

Garrett and Jasper are up to nothing. Jasper's parents went out for the night, and his brother isn't due to come back for the summer for another week, so it's just the four of us. Jasper's house is more like mine than it is like Alice's. His couches are old and lived in, and his mother's coffee table is chipped and scratched from years of use. But his TV is big and the surround sound is loud.

The air smells like laundry detergent and the kitchen is clean, but older, not so updated. Mrs. Hale likes roosters. The curtains above the sink are rooster printed, and all of the magnets on the refrigerator are roosters in different sizes and colors. The place mats on the table and the cookie jar on the counter are all rooster themed.

"Want a beer?" Garrett asks. He's beside me, but not as close as I would like. Alice is on Jasper's lap on the recliner beside the couch. Their hands are linked and their bodies are completely touching. Her head is leaned back on his shoulder and he's whispering into her ear. She isn't smiling, but her face is more calm than it was at the restaurant and on the drive over here.

"Sure."

He gets up, and I check my phone. Nothing.

I hear the sound of the refrigerator opening and the clink of the metal bottle caps hitting the counter. I think about sending Edward a message, but Garrett comes back before I think of what to type.

He sits closer this time and puts his arm on the back of the couch. We drink our beers and keep our eyes on the TV, but I don't think either one of us is really watching. It's just noise and images. Nothing is processing—I don't even know what movie is on. I'm back to the place I go when Edward is gone; breathing doesn't come naturally when I feel this way. I count each inhale and pace my exhales. I make sure I don't breathe too hard or too deep or too fast.

There's a hole in my chest. A pressure. Anxiety. And when I think about Edward, it constricts … almost painfully. The empty spot throbs and beats, always a constant reminder that my other half is away, and I don't know where he is.

I place my palm on my forehead and close my eyes. I lean forward, setting my elbow on my knee. The beer hangs between my pointer and middle finger, half empty.

Garrett's hand touches my bare shoulder. I smile.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" he asks quietly.

I turn my head and look, unsure on how to answer. Garrett smirks, and his eyes shift over to Alice and his best friend. My girl isn't laid back anymore, but turned around and straddling. Their lips are attached and their hands are drifting. Jasper's grip is tied up in Alice's pink hair. His other hand slips under the back of her shirt. The recliner rocks back and they laugh, but only for a moment before they go back to kissing, touching, and loving.

My phone rings.

_Dusty,_ the screen reads. _Answer or decline. _

Without another thought, I stand up and press answer, but I don't say hello right away. I take the stairs two at a time until I reach the only door I know in the entire house. Jasper's bedroom is cozy warm, and it smells just like him. His skateboard is against the wall and his bedsheets are unmade. He has a Pearl Jam poster above his bed and a Nirvana poster above his computer desk. On his nightstand is a framed picture of Alice, and on his bed post is one of her hoodies.

I close the door with a small click and put my ear to my phone. "Where are you?"

There's muffled noise in the background, music, voices, and running water. I can hear Edward moving around, but he doesn't answer.

"Edward," I say a little louder. I leave the door and sit on the edge of Jasper's twin bed.

"I've been calling you," Edward finally replies. He doesn't sound like himself. His words are slow and slurred, like it's taking him a huge effort to speak at all.

"You haven't called me at all."

"Whatever."

With my right hand on my cell phone, I cover my face with my left palm and try not to cry. I listen to him shuffle and shift. Edward curses and spits. He's not making any sense. He speaks in half-sentences and phrases, repeating the same thing three or four times before he switches to something else.

"Can you come here? Can you come get me?" he asks.

"Where are you?"

He laughs.

It goes on this way for a couple more minutes. His moods shift with his words. One second he wants me to come find him, and the next he wants me to leave him alone for good, forever.

"You're fucking killing me, you know? You know, right? That's why you do it?" he yells. "Why did you even fucking call me?"

"You called _me_, Edward." I sigh, keeping calm.

"Because I love you. I love you so fucking much, Bliss." His voice is desperate and dire. "My chest hurts, babe. When I think about you..." he trails off. "Sometimes it's too much."

The ups and downs are complicated and sporadic and hard to keep up with. I feel better that I have him on the phone, but now I have to deal with being the only person who kind of, sort of knows where he is. And I have to deal with him like this … spun and so out of his mind. I get pulled along while he goes through this emotional bullshit. I have to listen and keep collected. I have to keep everything he's putting me though to myself, because I have no one—not a single person other than Edward I can talk to.

In the middle of one of his rants, I ask, "Why didn't you come to your dinner?"

"Because of you!" he cries. "Because of you and those orange flowers, Bella. Shit."

I push my hand through my hair and stand up. The room seems to have gotten darker, and I suddenly hate it in here, because it isn't where I want to be … where I'm supposed to be, wrapped up in vanilla and gray sheets.

"Do you want me to ask you again?" Edward says with amusement in his pitch.

"Not like this, I don't."

"Be my girlfriend, Bliss. Be it. Be my fucking hidden heart, baby."

"Can I come get you, Edward? Please." I rush to the door and unlock it. "Tell me where you need me to be."

But there's a voice on the other end of the phone I recognize too well. "Come on. Come out here with us," she says in a muffled-to-me voice. He must have opened the door and let her in because she's clear when she asks, "Were you lost?"

She laughs.

"Who is that?" I ask with my cheek pressed against cool wood, even though I already know.

"The Devil," Edward answers. Victoria's still speaking to him; she calls him baby. "But she isn't mine," he says.

I hang up.

After taking a couple minutes to compose myself, I open the door and step out into the hallway. My head feels light and my hands are shaky, like I'm low on sugar. But I'm not. My boy has me fucked up, emotionally … physically. And he's right, sometimes it's too much.

I straighten out my dress and force the muscles in my face to work. I hold my shoulders back and my chin up. I swallow disappointment and hide hurt. I transform myself into _this_ Bliss. Their Bliss. Happy, secure, complete.

Garrett is waiting for me at the top of the stairs. His forearms are on his knees and his head is hanging low. I touch the back of his hair and sit beside him.

"Good?" he asks. I nod.

Garrett sits up straight, and I lean my head on his shoulder. The hallway behind us is dark, but the stairs ahead of us are lit up and deafening. The movie blares through the speakers, and the lights illuminate the wall. Explosions and fire and muffled dialogue from the movie cover the sounds that Jasper and Alice are for sure making on the recliner.

The thought of them having sex sends a rush through my blood. My heart beats fast; I feel it in my teeth and in my eyes. I sense my heart-thump behind my fingernails and knee caps. I squeeze my thighs together and close off any thoughts about Edward—for now.

I turn and kiss Garrett's shirt where my head was just placed.

Guilt stabs at the hole in my chest as soon as thin skin touches washed-worn cotton. Stings and pangs and jolts remind me that this is the wrong boy I'm kissing. He smells incorrect, like soap and honesty, and grass and bark, while my boy smells like rebellion and usualness. He feels different, too, lankier, smaller but broader, and more tender, while I'm used to long limbs and strong arms, brawny fronts, and controlling shifts. Teeth and hands and whispers. With Garrett, there is none of that, just ease.

When he turns his head and our lips come close, I close my eyes and settle.

He's so slow and soft, but I don't need that right now. I press my hands against his shoulders and push Garrett's back against the wall. His head hits with a small thud, and we laugh, but for only a second before I cover his lips with mine again. I sit up on my knees, one step below where my skater boy is, and put my palms on his hips and slip my fingers inside the waist of his jeans.

"Bliss," he whispers, shuddering.

I bite his bottom lip and pull until he hisses. "Take me to Jasper's room." I tease the side of his neck with small licks and touches. I bite on his ear lobe and dig my fingernails into his skin.

Garrett takes my face in his hands, and I hate it. He searches my face for something … something he'll never really find. I smile as much as I can, but after a few seconds of not kissing, guilt collides with lust, leaving me breathless and damaged.

Wrong eyes. Wrong lips. Wrong arms.

"Garrett," I plead, almost whining.

He stands up first. I follow, he leads, and we giggle.

Back inside Jasper's room, I don't waste any time, and I don't give Garrett an opportunity to ask me if I'm sure. I'm not, and he'll ask. He always does.

I grip the front of his gray tee and pull him toward me. My back clashes with the door, but I hardly feel it once Garrett's mouth is back with mine.

He has great lips, and he kisses just right. A little bit of pucker, a lot of lip … not too much tongue. He keeps trying to touch my face, and I keep swatting his hand away. Garrett pulls back, probably to ask me what's wrong, but there isn't time for consideration.

I don't want his thoughtfulness.

I reach between us and unbutton his Levi's.

"Um..." he starts, pulling his hips back a fraction of an inch. "Bella."

"Shh," I smile, pulling the zipper down. "No talking, okay?"

When his pants are undone, I pull his shirt over his head and drop it on the floor. I bite my bottom lip and look at him through the dark.

Wrong chest. Wrong skin. Wrong warmth.

I touch his stomach and laugh when his abs flex. I step forward, and he steps back.

"Bliss, come on," he says lowly.

I bring my foot up and unbuckle my shoe. It hits the carpet and I work the other one. The zipper to my dress is on the back. I pick up my hair and spin around. "Help me." Garrett doesn't move at first, so I ask again.

He kisses my shoulder, and I hate his sweet touch. It rolls my stomach and hurts my eyes. He's careful and unselfish; his fingers glide along my spine with the zipper. I bite my bottom lip and squeeze my eyes closed as tightly as I can to keep from screaming for him to stop. Because I like him. I care about him. I don't want to hurt him, but I only need him to make me forget my life is so fucked up. And I need him to remind me that I have choices. I love Dusty by choice. I deal with his shit by choice.

And right now, I choose to forget. I choose Garrett.

My dress slips to my feet. I step out of cotton and turn back to Garrett. My strapless white bra is nothing special, and my underwear are an unmatched pink, but he looks at me like I'm the most cherished thing he's ever seen. Garrett reaches out and touches my hand. He links our fingers before pulling me against his body.

I'm shaking. Literally trembling.

"Don't be so nice to me, okay?" I say with a shaky voice and watery eyes. I try to make it sound like I'm being funny, but it doesn't come out that way.

Garrett kisses me.

He kisses me airless. He kisses me thoughtless and numb. He kisses me until I have to pull away and gasp, only to sink right back into his lips. I hold onto his shoulders and press my chest against his. Garrett's arms circle around my back; he holds me like I'm made out of glass.

"Tighter," I mumble against locked lips.

He squeezes, but it's not enough.

"Harder," I groan. I pull the hair at the nape of his neck, arching his head back. I dip my teeth into his skin.

He pushes me back. Garrett half-laughs. "Easier," he says.

I step backwards until my legs hit the mattress, and then I fall back. I keep my eyes on his mouth, because I can't look him in the eyes. Not right now.

They're not right.

Sitting up on my elbows, I keep my knees together. Garrett sweeps his hand through his hair. His jeans are still undone, and he looks so good without a shirt on.

I think about Emily. I think about him kissing her like he just kissed me.

I open my legs.

He's between my thighs, climbing over me before I have to ask. I slide my hands up his chest and use my feet to push down his denim. I kiss his neck, nibble on his collar bone, and ask, "Do you like her?"

With his hands on the side of my head, dipping the old mattress, he looks at me. His eyebrows come together, and it's so fucking wrong.

"Who?"

"Emily."

"I don't know. No." He leans in and kisses the side of my throat. I hold onto his sides. I hold hard and sure.

"Why do you love me?" I ask, turning my face into his neck.

My guilt hole burns.

Garrett doesn't answer. He doesn't say a word. He just kisses down my body, softly, slowly, like he's making love to me. I let my hands slip away from his torso, and I dig black nails into flannel bedsheets at my sides. I curl my toes and push my legs together, but since he's between them, I grip Garrett's hips.

He doesn't touch me with his hands, though. It's what I need, and this is too slow. So while he's taking his time, pressing his lips to every inch of my stomach, I reach down and hook my thumb into the waist band of my underwear and pull them down as far as I can.

Garrett is on his knees right away. He's hard. I can see him. I can feel him. He watches me lower cotton to my knees, but that's as far as I can get my pink undergarment without his help.

"Bella—" He closes his eyes, conflicted, with his hand back in his dark hair.

I take the option of backing out away from him and sit up, pushing my underwear down to my ankles and kicking them off. I kiss his chest. "Will you look at me?"

I slip my hand down his red boxers.

Garrett sucks in a sharp breath, and he tries to move away from me, but I grip firmer and stroke. His head falls back, eyes still closed. His Adam's apple moves up, then down as he swallows.

Like everything else, this feels different … but not wrong. Garrett doesn't feel wrong like this. I've only ever touched or seen Edward this way, but there is affection here. No love. Not from me, but there are feelings. Tenderness … warmness.

I like the way his cheeks blush, and I like his hesitation. He's letting me do this. Garrett doesn't push into my hand—he doesn't take. He lets me give. And when he finally opens his eyes and looks at me, I like his depth. I like his sincerity and openness. This boy is allowing me to see his fucking soul, and it's mine to have.

It's too much to handle, so I let go. I lie back and open my knees. I reach for his hips and pull him over me. I kiss his chin, the corner of his lips, and the spot beneath his ear.

"You get this from me," I whisper. My eyes fill and spill over; tears run down my temples into my hair. "You can have it."

He tries to pull away again, but I hold him, using all of my muscle. "Stay. Please, don't leave me."

"Bella, we don't—"

I reach for him, wrapping my small hand around the base of his length. The head of his penis slips between my folds and my stomach lurches. I cry out and attach my lips to his shoulder before I scream. With an unsteady, unsure hand, I guide him to my opening. I lift my hips, but Garrett pulls back.

"Please," I cry. "Garrett."

"Why?" he asks in a shaken voice. "We can wait until..."

I grab onto him again, putting him back where I need him to be, cutting him off. He moans and drops from his hands to his elbows.

"Just do it," I beg.

"Bella, I'm not going to just do it." He reaches between us to take my hand off of him. Garrett pulls his boxers up and gets off the bed.

I look up at the ceiling, about to lose control. My eyes continue to leak sadness into my hair. My chest heaves up and down. I close my legs, but it's too late, I've already bared my sad, true self. The ache in my chest splinters and devours, hurting me until I finally sob. I sob so loud, and it feels so good.

Garrett is at my ankles, slipping my underwear back up my legs. He lifts my hips and covers me before lying beside me on the small bed. I'm crying so hard, but he doesn't ask why. He just lets me do it with my back pressed against his chest. And after a while, when my tears slow their pace, he starts to whisper. He whispers to me about things that are not important, like how his mom accidentally washed all of his whites with a red shirt.

"So don't judge me if I'm wearing pink for a while," he says quietly.

Hiccups quickly turn into laughs, and soon I'm not even crying anymore. I turn onto my back, keeping close to Garrett. We don't kiss, or touch, or go back to where we were, but we talk. We laugh. We reminisce about peanut butter scented teachers and Sublime all summer long. Then he shows me his socks and they're pink, and it's so funny I laugh until I'm crying for a whole different reason.

.

.

.

He kisses me again while we're getting dressed, but in true Garrett manner, no words are exchanged. The littlest things with him are always enough. He ties his Vans while I buckle my wedges. Garrett zips up my dress before buttoning his jeans. And instead of worrying about my hair, I steal Alice's hoodie from Jasper's bed and pull it over my dress. I keep the hood up.

I let him hold my hand on the way downstairs.

Alice and Jasper have moved from the recliner to the larger couch where Garrett and I were sitting earlier. He's shirtless on his back, and she's wearing his shirt, lying completely on top of him. My girl lifts her head when she hears me. Alice can probably tell I was crying, but she doesn't say anything. And she doesn't mention my hand in Garrett's.

"Ready?" she asks.

I nod and take my keys from the table by the front door.

Rather than wait for Alice to get dressed, I open the front door and step outside into the cool air. Garrett follows, hand-in-hand. He sticks his free hand in his pocket and walks with the silliest smirk ever.

"I got a job this summer," he says. His voice is loud in the early morning air. It's a quarter past three. We were in the room twisting and crying, laughing for hours.

"You did?" I lean against the trunk of my car. Garrett lifts me up, and I let him settle between my legs. It's innocent. He doesn't push or advance or take advantage. He just rests within me.

"Lifeguard," he says shyly. "Me and Jasper."

I push dark brown hair behind his ear. Garrett settles his forearms on the car beside my legs and leans his face between my arm and side. I rub his back, and we don't talk any more until Alice comes out with Jasper.

"I didn't realize how late it was," she says, opening the passenger door and getting in. Jasper leans in and kisses her mouth.

I hop off the car and smile at Garrett as I walk away. Before I can get in, though, he reaches for my elbow and turns me around. Garrett slips his hand behind my neck, inside of the hoodie, and pulls my face to his. He kisses me. Hard this time. Once, twice, three times before I feel his tongue part my lips. I hold onto his sleeves and kiss him back as much as I can—not fully, but enough.

"I'll see you later," he says before letting me go.

Alice is literally vibrating on the drive home. We're both hoodie covered; me in hers and she in Jasper's. The top is down, but the cold air feels nice and clarifying.

I know what she wants. She wants dirt. She wants details.

I let her suffer a little longer, and when we come to a stop light, she squeals but still doesn't say a word.

"Ask," I say, shifting the car into first when the light changes.

She turns to face me with the largest smile spread across her face. Her cheeks are freshly-fucked red and her lips are sweetly swollen. Alice's eyes are relaxed-drawn, and she has a huge hickey on the side of her throat.

"What did his cock look like? Did you touch it?" She shakes my arm.

I blush and giggle. I can't help it.

I tell her all of the details, leaving out the parts she doesn't need to know. I tell her that he was nice, and unselfish. "He has the prettiest lips," I say, just to get her excited.

"So, do you love him or what?" she asks. Alice sits Indian style on the seat. Her eyes and ears are all mine.

I chew on the inside of my cheek but ultimately shake my head. I like Garrett, a lot. I more than like him. A part of me craves him, because I lack his kind of affection from my boy. We have a history; a simple sweet one. And we could have a future if I wanted. It would be untainted and refined. I could trust Garrett, because he would never hurt or disappoint me. Only, I could never promise him the same. I love Edward. No matter what, I love him. Absolutely. Utterly. Completely. And my love with him is so turned, twisted, and disordered, but it's all I have room for. It's what I want. I'm in love with him.

Love is that simple.

"Ugh. You're stone cold, you know that, belly Bliss?" Alice laughs and reaches over for my hand.

I leave the car in second gear and cruise down her driveway, taking a full breath for the first time since I last saw Edward. The trees are growing over and above making darkness seem sinister. The moon peeks out between the branches, and my headlights illuminate the forest with an orangish light. The tires on my car roll over rocks and dirt, sounding loud in the quiet night.

Alice looks at me with wide open eyes. "It's kind of scary out here." She titters.

I'm not scared. The unlit forest doesn't frighten me. Or the sounds of bats, or the fact the porch light has been left off.

The Continental parked in front of the garage scares me, though.

It sends a chill right through my body.

"Fucking asshole," Alice spits. She pulls her hand from mine and unbuckles her seat belt.

I stop the car and turn off the engine. "Help me put the top up?"

"Just leave it," she says. "It'll be fine until the morning." She's mad. Not at me, but at her brother.

Alice doesn't get out of the car when I do. I grab my purse from the back seat, and then I grab hers. I even walk over and open her door. She doesn't move.

"Can we just go to your house tonight?" she asks. Alice looks from the house to me.

"We can't. I'll get in trouble for being out so late."

I follow her up the front porch, and I stand behind her while she unlocks the door. The entire house is dark and sleeping. The TV is off and the kitchen is pitch. The air smells like plumeria and left over chicken parmesan. Edward's keys are tossed on the coffee table, but that's the only sign of him at all.

Al and I quietly pass through the living room and up the stairs. Esme and Carlisle's door is shut. Blue-silver light shines from underneath; their TV is on. Alice places her ear against the wood. She looks over her shoulder toward me and whispers, "My dad is snoring."

We tiptoe to her room, and I think we're both relieved when we're finally inside. Instead of turning on the light on the ceiling fan, Alice plugs in the rope lights. I sit on the edge of her bed and unbuckle my wedges for the second time tonight.

"Did you notice if his bedroom light was on, Bliss?" Alice asks, pulling Jasper's hoodie over her head. "Should I talk to him?"

I shake my head and answer, "No. The light was off." Lie.

My girl lifts pink tresses into her hands and ties them up high with a black hairband. Alice shimmies out of black leggings and slips into bed, still wearing Jasper's shirt. I manage to unzip myself and fall in next to her, wearing a strapless bra and pink underwear. I hold my arms open and Alice clings close, wrapping her arms around my lower back. I run my fingers through her hair until she's heavy and snoring.

Edward's light was on when we got home, and it's still on. I lied to Alice because I didn't want her to talk to him. She'd stay up all night fighting with her brother, and I need him more.

I get out of bed and put on Alice's Jim Morrison band tee and a pair of gray cotton shorts. I sneak out of her room and flip on her night light in the hallway as I pass. In front of his door, I'm afraid to go in. My mind is racing—everything Edward told me on the phone, everything I did with Garrett—it's all crashing down on me so fast. So double-quick, that when I do open his door, I'm already crying.

Edward's standing in front of his TV. The remote is in his hand; he's flipping through channels, fully dressed, down to his shoes, wearing exactly what he was at his graduation today. His hair isn't so neat anymore, though, and his sleeves are rolled up.

He knows I'm here. He's ignoring me.

I close the door but stay where I stand. I wipe my face clean from blameworthy tears and wait for Edward to turn around, but he doesn't. He just keeps flipping.

I lean back against the door. The peonies are on his dresser, wilted because I didn't put them in water like he asked me to. I just tossed them on the porch.

"Edward," I call his name quietly.

"Tell me," he says. He turns off the TV and drops the remote, but he still doesn't turn around. His head drops and his hands grip into his hair. "Say it, Bliss."

"I was with Garrett," I cry softly. Tears roll down my cheeks and fall to my feet. "That's where I was."

I cover my mouth once I say it. I wasn't sure if I was going to tell him or not. And I don't even know if that's what he wanted me to say, but I said it, and now I can't take it back. Ever.

The hole in my chest, which usually goes away when I'm with Edward, burns and widens. I move my hands from my face to my chest. I clutch faded cotton and cry harder. "I'm so sorry."

"Did you fuck him?" he asks. His voice is unstable and rough. Edward hasn't turned to look at me. I don't think I want him to. I don't trust him to.

I shake my head. "No."

My guy finally turns and his eyes are darker than the forest. They're wholly black and entirely depleted. I don't even recognize this person.

"Why not?" He smirks.

I don't say anything. I don't move.

"Why didn't you fuck him, Bella?" he asks again. The curve in his lips lifts slightly higher.

"I don't know, Edward!" I yell, frustrated with his apathetic grin and broken glare.

Yelling doesn't make me feel any better. It's like punching in a dream—no matter how much insistence and effort I put behind it, it's not enough.

It's the trigger my boy needed, though.

Edward pushes me against the door with his left hand over my mouth. His right palm is on the side of my neck, and his forearm across my shoulder. He's taller than me, so I have to stand on my tippy toes to look into his black. His eyes cry like mine do. His chin quivers. His teeth grind.

I hold onto his wrist. He isn't hurting me, but I want him to. I can manage the physical pain more than this … this is killing me. This I can't hold in.

"Shut the fuck up before someone hears you." He seethes.

I'm breathing too quickly through my nose, salty water blurs my vision, and the tips of my toes hurt from trying to stand taller. My cheeks tingle and my lungs sting. The hole in my chest, the emptiness of my guilt, becomes a vacuum, a vortex, with everything I own and feel and have, falling right into it.

I pull his hand away from my mouth.

"Listen to me," I cry out. I touch his face. I kiss the inside of his wrist. "Please. _Please!_"

I manage to lift away from the door, but Edward pushes me back into it.

"No," he groans. I clear away his tears and wipe them on my shorts. My guy whimpers.

"It didn't mean anything. Listen to me!"

"Shut the fuck up!" he moans. "I can't—I can't do this, babe."

I sob louder, and it's only making him more angry. "I always forgive you. I've forgiven you for everything."

He closes his eyes before hiding his face between my shoulder and neck. I feel his teeth on my skin, but he doesn't bite. I wrap my arms around him while he cries. I feel his shortness of breath through his chest—his heart is beating quicker than ever before. The capability of his anger and hurt literally ripples beneath his skin; muscle flexes and moves. His fingers squeeze and clench. I can feel him keeping himself this close, but moving so far away.

Edward reaches behind me and opens the door. I try to close it, but he keeps his hold steady and secure. He lets me go, so I turn in his arms so that my chest is to his back, and I pull on his wrist with both of my hands, but he doesn't budge and the door stays open. I try to push him further into the room, but he pushes back, and Edward's stronger.

We scuffle and struggle, and groan and cry, but eventually, I lose. He pushes me out and stands in front of the door so I can't come back in. He's an immense presence I can't get by—impenetrable.

Defeated and tired, pathetic and heartbroken, I look up at my boy and wish things were different. Not only this, but everything … from the start. I wish we would have done things differently. But we didn't. This is us.

I walk away.

He calls my name, but I keep going, stoic. I lock myself in Alice's bedroom where I belong.

I sit on the floor beside the bed, with my forearms on my pulled up knees and my face hidden inside. When the crashing and breaking and yelling begins, echoing throughout the house from the room next door, everyone wakes up. Alice jump-stumbles out of bed and opens the door.

Carlisle runs by, sleepy faced and in his pajamas. Esme's right after him, tying her cream colored silk robe with a panic-stricken expression on her face.

"Fucking bitch!" Edward yells until his voice gives out, turning into incoherent cries. "Why are you doing this to me?" The sound of his fist going through his wall shakes my bones. He doesn't say a name, and I don't know. How do I know if he's talking about me, or _her?_

I cover my ears.

Alice stands in the hallway with her hands over her mouth and tears pouring out of her blues. Her feet are bare and her hair is sleep-tossed. She doesn't move, or look at me, or flinch over the commotion. She just cries.

Every shout, every utterance, every break and sound of struggle ricochets through the narrow walls in the hallway, intensifying the chaos. Esme screams, Carlisle fights back … Edward storms past Alice with bloody knuckles and unfocused eyes.

His mother chases him, pulling on the back of his blue button up. The heels of her feet dig into the carpet, but it's useless.

And when he leaves—when the Continental roars to life and speeds out of the driveway—I know. I just know.

He won't be back this time.


	28. Little Hell

**We do not own Twilight. **

**Yelly, let's not finish it so it can go on forever. **

**LovelyBrutal is our beta. **

"**True love stories should never have a happy ending, because true love stories never end..." _—__Unknown. _**

**City and Colour – Little Hell: **_What if I can't be all that you need me to be? We've got a good thing going, we have some promises to keep. But my addiction, it can be such a detriment. Please believe in this my dear, I am more than penitent._

_What if everything's just the way that it will be? Could it be that I am meant to cause you all this grief? _

**Chapter 27 – Sunny Side**

It's like we're twelve years old again, sneaking sweets and telling secrets, hidden from the world in our own little existence built from imagination and, this time, desperation. We took every chair from the kitchen, and every blanket from the closet. We stripped my bed to the mattress and carried pillows, sheets, and stuffed giraffes downstairs. Mom called us silly. Dad said we'd better clean up our mess.

Alice and I made a fort big enough for the two of us. It's quilt draped and wood chair sturdy, lit up by multicolored Christmas lights I begged my mom to pull down from the attic. They hang above and around us, twirl-tied around chair legs and in between layers of blankets.

We use flash lights from my dad's garage to read to each other: she recites _The Unbearable Lightness of Being,_ and I whisper from _The Fault in our Stars._ We take turns, page for page, reading chapters out of order, until Milan Kundera and John Green become the same person and a new story is born from our favorites.

Alice eats banana chips, and I chew on Tootsie Rolls. She drinks Smart water, and I stick to cream soda. Our legs are tangled and our toes wiggle together. My left arm is pushed against her right, and while I'm reading, her head leans on my shoulder.

"Okay, no more," she cries softly. Alice wipes tears out from under her eyes. "I can't deal with fake funerals right now, Bliss."

I point my flashlight from the book to Alice's face; her tears reflect in the low light. She fills her cheeks up with air and exhales slowly, smiling sadly.

It's been a week, and she's been here every day since he left.

I search her face, looking from her eyes to her nose, to her lips and chin. Her hair is faded pink and clean, left down and fanned around her head and shoulders. She's in black boy shorts, and I'm in yellow. She's covered in an oversized Deftones tee, and I'm wearing a peach tank. Her eyes are swollen, bloodshot and red. Mine aren't.

Maybe having Alice with me every day since Edward took off has kept me from crying, or maybe I just don't have it in me anymore, but since that night, I haven't shed a single tear.

I can feel them. They're built up behind my eyes and pushed up against my chest. My heart is wrapped in tears, floating in perfect fucking heartache. My sadness is under my skin, between my toes, and in my hair. It's there when I go to sleep, and around when I wake up. My despair is vengeful, so relentless, and mocking. It laughs in my face and says, _"I told you so,"_ before clenching my heart in its too-firm grip, knocking me off my feet.

Maybe that's it. Maybe I knew all along this would be our conclusion, and that's why I can't cry.

_Probably. _

_Probably not. _

I try. The only time I'm ever alone is when I'm in the restroom.

"Just let me pee, Al," I said yesterday, while I tried to close the door between us.

She stood in the hallway after putting up a fight. "I've seen you pee before, B." she whined. Her eyes were water rimmed, ready to spill.

Alice is clingy in her grief. And small. Unsure. Her parents are their own kind of crazy, and I knew without her even saying the words, she needed to be out of her house until they calm down. I love her here; she's the distraction my drifting heart needs. But nothing is my own with Alice around. She sleeps on me; she eats right beside me; she sits on the counter or the edge of the tub when I shower. Alice uses my pillows and buries herself in my blankets. She locks my door and hides from my parents.

All of her clothes are in my closet, and her skateboard is by the front door. When she isn't concealing herself from my mom and dad, she's hoarding them. She talks my dad's ear off and cuddles with Mom. They don't know about Edward and the drugs, but they know he's gone. We told them he went on a trip with his friends. He'll be back … maybe.

Not that it would matter. Edward's eighteen. He'll be nineteen in a few weeks. He's allowed to come and go as he pleases. That's what makes this so hard. We're helpless, and we can't make him come back. There's nothing any of us can do.

I could tell my dad. Esme's a fucking mess, and Carlisle isn't any better, and my chief of police father might be able to help them find their kid, but then what? Then my dad will know the truth about Edward. He'll know that he uses. He'll know Edward isn't the boy I've conned them into believing he is for the last seven years. He'll know I'm a liar. Telling my parents about Edward would make everything worth nothing. All of my effort and love will never have meant a thing because they'll be enlightened about who I really am, too, and I won't even have Edward at the end to merit any of it.

They don't wonder why Alice is here, anyway. She's my best friend. Simple.

"You're not peeing, Bliss," Alice said through the door. She knocked softly.

I turned on the water and splashed some on my face. "Alice, give me five minutes!" I needed those minutes so much.

Then I stared at myself in the mirror. With my hands on the sink and my face up close, I searched for it. I fucking begged for something. One stupid tear would have been good enough, but nothing happened. "Cry, cry, cry," I begged myself. I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip. I dug my fingernails into porcelain and prayed silently for it to happen; still, nothing.

I let myself feel the impact of everything Edward and I have done. I thought about the first time I saw him kiss Victoria in junior high. I remembered when Kim told Alice and I that Edward and Vic had sex. I recalled Bree's bathroom confession, and every admission from whomever after that … when I heard him admit that Mixie sucked his dick. When he left the dance with the devil in the blue dress. When I kissed Garrett. Every time I said no. The look on his face when I told him I was dying to go to the concert, and I really wasn't. When it didn't even matter if I went or not. When I chose to hurt him because he was always hurting me.

When I said _I didn't know_ and walked away instead of fighting my way into his room.

I dug deep into my house of secrets and let it all out.

"_I can kiss you like she does."_

"_Smile, it's a rule."_

"_Tell me a secret."_

"_You're my fucking girl, aren't you?"_

"_Bliss. Baby, baby, baby..."_

I couldn't breathe. My lungs compressed and my teeth clenched. My fingertips tingled and my skin crawled. I think I groaned. Alice knocked on the door again.

"I'm almost done, Al," I said, using every bit of effort I had to make myself cry.

And I was all of this: hurting, melting, burning, sinking, dying. But I was not crying.

My knees buckled and hit the cabinet; I started to slide, but I held myself up. I opened my eyes and they were deep dark like his, only not the same. Mine were not coke elicited, but Edward evoked. There was some kind of heartbreak in my eyes. It was deep. It was years built up. It was rifting.

My hair was air-dried and kinky. My face was colorless and makeup clean. My freckles emphasized the slight purple under my eyes. My lips were dry, but not cracked … just bare. It was me, completely fucking true and utterly dislodged.

And nothing has changed.

I set my book aside and sit up to get another one. We brought them all down: fairy tales and classics, fables and fantasies, fiction and biographies. I toss The Heroin Diaries aside because of the too-close-to-home content, and pass The Very Hungry Caterpillar because we read that first. I hold up Wuthering Heights, and Alice makes a face.

"So fucking boring," she says. She waves her hand; I drop the book.

They're scattered and dumped at our feet. Some are in piles, but most are knocked over and open. The air in our tent smells like book paper and ink and binding. Books are meant to be loved hard, used and abused, so I'm not careful in my search to make Alice happy. I toss this book over there, and another over here. I accidentally rip a cover; I get a paper cut.

"How about this?" I hold up a romance.

"No," she answers easily. "Gross."

"This?" Stephen King.

"Nah."

It's different with Alice this time. She isn't mad. She's destroyed. She's cracked and dispirited. And it's not the _"my brother is my hero"_ bullshit. It's not dramatic like that. Alice is genuinely worried, and honestly upset. She's wounded and suffering. Stripped. Gone is her image—the tough, foul-mouthed skater girl isn't here. It's just Alice. No heavy eyeliner, no red lips … just a sister whose brother has hurt her feelings.

A best friend who needs her mind off of things.

"How about this one?" I smile, showing her the cover to Dirty by Megan Hart.

Alice bolts up with huge open eyes and takes the novel from me. "Is this … _sex?_" she whispers.

I take it back and look at the cover. It's an image of a couple in a bathroom stall. All you can see is their shoe covered feet, and their position. "I don't know where it came from."

"I bet it's your mom's, Bliss. Under all of that floral print and Birkenstocks is a freak!" Alice picks the book from my hands and lies back against our best-friend-made bed. "I mean, she probably likes Christmas Explosions as much as we do." Alice gives me side-eyes and a sly smirk, practically begging me to admit it.

I slip in beside her, with my elbow on the pillow and my head on my palm. I shudder. "Lets not talk about my mom and orgasms, Alice."

"Your dad's mustache probably tickles."

"Alice!" I let my face fall into cushy cotton.

"What?" She rolls away from me, happy, finally, turning into a giggling ball. She tilts her head back and laughs loudly, until her teeth show. Like his do. "Oh, fuck, Bliss. Your dad's mustache is so sexy."

I turn onto my back and cover my embarrassed flushed face with both of my hands. "Can you just read?"

"Fine," she says, still laughing. "But if this gets me all hot and bothered, you might have to touch me after."

I hit her with a pillow. "Touch yourself."

"Or we can do that."

"Alice," I groan, beyond mortified, and thriving in the first back-to-us conversation we've had in six days.

"Okay. Okay." She opens the book and reads, "_'My belly jumped as I rocked my hips, pushing my cunt against his mouth and fingers.'"_

_._

_._

_._

We read from the book for a while, and by narrating the words in silly voices, we try to make it ridiculous. Alice makes sex sounds, and I blush like crazy. It gets plot thick at times, so Alice skips around, loving how uncomfortable it makes me. When she's sure she read every blow job, finger fuck, and love making scene, she finally puts it down.

We're swimming in sexual tension. I bite my fingernails, and Alice rubs her thighs together. We avoid looking at each other. It's awkward and funny, and embarrassing, but normal. We're able to be ourselves for an hour. For sixty minutes I don't feel the gaping hole in my chest. Everything isn't so raw. I don't miss him so much.

"No more books," Alice finally says. "Let's watch a movie."

So we open up the front of our tent and let out the scent of printed paper and turned-on teenager and turn on the TV. _Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas_ is on. We watch it for about twenty minutes before the feeling of comfort shifts right back into apprehension. The hollow point in my body throbs, and Alice isn't smiling anymore. Her teeth don't show; her cheeks aren't red.

"Do you think that's how it is for him, B?" she whispers.

"Do I think he's in Las Vegas with Benicio Del Toro? No." My voice is low. My attempt at a joke isn't funny.

"Do you think he's lost like that?" She covers her face and cries. I turn the TV off.

"He isn't looking for the American dream in the Red Shark, Alice. Edward … " I swallow. "he's fucked up. He's addicted. He's an addict."

It's like speaking fire and flame. The words burn. But we've spent years tiptoeing around the truth: Edward has problems. Not once has anyone come out and said it.

But the truth doesn't make us feel any better. Alice falls asleep, and I'm wide awake, surrounded by children's books, in a tent lit by Christmas lights in June. My mind won't shut off: _What's he doing. Where's he at? Why hasn't he called anyone? When is he coming back? _

Is he with _her_?

Is he with Victoria?

With anyone?

I worry over and over and over, until my stomach flips and tumbles, and stirs. Until I'm clutching all ten fingers into my chest and screaming into my pillow. I kick my legs, pushing all of the blankets away; I get rug burn on my knees. I bend my toes until they ache. I scratch into skin, trying to break through to the bone and blood and veins and arteries that's between me and where it hurts the most. My heart beats his name; his touch; his smell.

_Cry, cry, cry, cry. _

I sit up. . I hold a palm over my mouth and another over my forehead. I'm sweating. My body is too warm. I gasp-breathe, in and out, in and out. My face tingles. My jaw hurts. I sit on my knees. My head hits the top of the fort. I shuffle over books and knock down one of the blankets that played our roof.

Alice doesn't wake up. She dosed herself to sleep after crying didn't work.

Out from beneath the blankets, and away from the girl who laughs like my boy, I stand up and walk to the kitchen. Cool air touches my skin, forming goosebumps. My sticky feet form to unwarmed tile, making a soft suction sound with every step. I go to the sink and turn on the water. I hold my hair over my shoulder and cup my other hand under the liquid, bringing a mouthful to my lips.

I rinse off my forehead and press wet hands against my panicked cheeks. I remind myself how to breathe. Easy. Steady. Normal. I stand there until I calm down, with both hands on the counter like I had them in the bathroom yesterday. Water drips from my lips, my forehead, my chin. I look at the clock; it's a quarter past four in the morning.

My phone rings.

My head snaps in the direction of the ring tone. It's under my pillow, so it's muffled. Alice won't wake up; she's chemically altered. But my parents might.

I don't know if it's my legs or my heart that rush back to the fort. I stub my toe on East of Eden and catch my right wrist in holiday lights. My phone stops ringing.

"Shit. Shit … shit." I untangle myself and push my pillow away.

Alice's eyes open. I look at her, but she isn't there. They close again. She's sleeping.

My cell lights up, singing his song: _I never knew daylight could be so violent. _

Dusty.

_Decline _or_ Answer. _

I silence the ringer, but I don't answer it. I listen for my parents, but it's hard to hear over the echo of my heart pulse.

My phone stops, just to start right back up again.

Dusty.

_Decline _or_ Answer. _

"Edward," I whisper into the receiver. My hands moves the phone unsteadily against my face.

"Hi, baby." Like nothing ever changed.

Then it happens.

I cry.

I put the phone down and bunch a sheet under my arm and bolt out of the blanket made home. I step through the kitchen, unlock the backdoor and walk out into the early morning night. I wrap myself up and sit in a sun-bleached and cracked, green plastic patio chair. My eyes drip freely now. My chin quivers. My nose stuffs up.

"Where are you?" I whisper, heartsick and moved.

"_Princess girl … baby, baby, baby,"_ he says gently. His words are thick and drawn out. Wherever he is, it's quiet. I don't hear anything on his side of the phone but the sound of his breathing and soft speaking. "My girl."

I sit back in my chair. I hold a hand over my mouth to keep my cries soundless. "Edward,"—I squeeze my eyes shut—"please come home."

"You're mine, right, sunny side? You'll always be mine?" Little tap, tap, taps litter the silence behind him. I know what he's doing. _She's_ there. He's cutting her up, forming little lines.

I listen to him breathe cocaine in through his nose.

He groans.

He laughs.

Tap, tap, tap.

"I've been looking for you," Edward says.

"I'm where I belong," I answer and pull my feet up. I set my forehead on my knee and use my sheet to wipe my face. "It's you I can't find."

He laughs loudly. I think of Alice with her head tilted back and her teeth showing. My face crumbles, and I sob.

"I'm right here, Bella!"

"I'm supposed to always know where you are, Edward. Remember? Remember our rules?" The stupid dog next door starts to bark. The sprinklers in my back yard come on. The sky is beginning to turn colors with the start of the morning.

"Are you smiling, baby?"

"No."

"Rule breaker." I can hear the smirk in his voice. I can see it in my mind; but it's blurry.

Then it's not so quiet where he is anymore. Someone is knocking on a door. Edward tells them to get lost.

"Go away. I'm on the fucking phone," he yells.

Tap, tap, tap.

They manage to get into the room. There are so many voices, I can't tell who is who. I don't recognize any of their tones. I can't hear what they're saying. Edward's laughing. He's still telling them to leave.

"I'll be right out," he says before the phone drops to the floor.

Now I can't hear his words, either. They're muffled. He's laughing, fighting for his phone. They're tossing it around, but no one says anything to me. Maybe I pick out Petey's voice. Maybe.

"Give me my fucking phone, Dim." Edward's voice is clear again, unmistakable. He has his phone back. "I'm talking to my girl," he says.

"Your girl?" a stranger says.

Edward snorts. I bet he rolls his eyes. "Fuck off." He isn't laughing anymore. "It's just my dad. Right, Dad?"

I don't say anything.

"I think my dad hung up on me." He's daring me to. I won't. He tells whoever to get the fuck out. "You're being rude. I'm on the phone with my fucking pops," he says.

His side is soundless again.

He clears his throat. Twice. "So."

"Come home." I'm not crying anymore. I'm more desperate than that. I'm sitting at the edge of my seat. I'm biting my nails too low. I can feel my heart beat in my face … in the tips of my fingers. "Right now. Please."

He's breathing. "I'll be home."

"When?"

Edward laughs. "I don't know. Whenever. Why?"

I'm crying again. I'm crushed, suffocating under the weight of our position.

_Let him go,_ my conscience whispers. _Tell him you don't need him. You don't love him. Lie to him like you lie to everyone else, you crying liar. _

"Because I love you. I miss you." Tears slip over my lips.

_Tell him his degree of difficulty isn't worth it. Tell him his addiction is such a detriment. Tell him you can no longer be what he needs you to be. _

"I'll be your girlfriend, but swear you're coming home, Edward." The sky is more orange than blue now. The sprinklers have turned off; the air smells like wet grass and dirt. I feel light headed from lack of sleep, unsettled. My eyes burn. My skin hurts. My hair aches. Every part of me suffers in his absence. My jaw. My elbows. My knees. I'm not a person without him here.

"Yeah?" He's amused. "Like that, Bliss?"

"I just want you back."

"And I didn't want you to fuck Garrett!" he yells. He punches something. A wall. He curses. "Fuck!" He's breathing too hard. Edward's mumbling things I don't understand.

I know what his eyes would look like if he were here: massive … no blue, past black. Abysmal. Convulsive. Inconsolable. If he were here, he'd be standing tall over me. His teeth would be grinding. His hands would be fisted. He would be so fucking beautiful, and I would be airless.

But he's not. I'm alone, and I don't have any idea where he is.

_Rule breaker._

"I didn't, Edward. I didn't do that!" I sob hysterically. The same feeling of being trapped I had earlier is quickly creeping back in. It slithers up my spine and curves around my neck. It's as if my arms are pinned at my sides and my ankles are tied together. I can't breathe out of my nose, and more air is coming out of my mouth than in. My shoulders lift and fall. My throat burns. My sight is spotted.

"You should have," he says in a calm, scarily clear voice.

"I don't love him."

"Stop loving me."

"No." Crying is painful. It's exhausting. It's taking everything I have left.

He's quiet, listening to me cry too hard, breathe too hard, love too much. The sounds I make are unnatural and scary, body rocking. I can't take a breath. I can't catch up with myself. All of the tears I have saved on him are out, drowning me. Holding me under. Years worth.

"Calm down," he says, sounding annoyed.

I try. I try, but I can't. And I know someone is going to hear me if I don't stop. They'll ask me what's wrong. I won't have an answer. I know. I need to stop. But I'm pouring. Draining. Depleting.

"Baby." He's a little more concerned. "Bella, listen to me."

"I can't!" Not a lie. I can't hear anything over the sound of my own panic.

"Tell me a secret, Bliss. Come on, tell me something." He's soothing, but slurred. He's focused, but not totally here. I still don't know where he is, or how to fix this. I don't know how to be without him. I need _our_ secret. It's all I know. It's my backbone, he's my heart, and I'm alone.

So I say the only truth I know: "I'm scared."

.

.

.

"How late did you girls stay up? " Mom asks. She's helping us fold up our fort, one blanket at a time.

Mom's pitch is too high. Her eyes are too weary. What she's really asking is, _what were you doing that I need to know about? Why did you sleep until three in the afternoon?_

Prying bitch.

I feel like I just went to bed. Like I shut my eyes and opened them right back up. Along with the rest of my body, my eyes ache. They water and burn. My bones feel soft. I have a headache. It's like I'm looking through a fishbowl.

"Late. We read a book, Renee," Alice answers. Her voice is uppity-happy.

And I already know where this conversation is going.

But I don't have any energy to stop it.

"You did?" Mom stacks my pillows on top of my comforter.

I think about my dad's mustache and shiver.

"Yeah. I'll show you which one." Alice picks through our stacks of books on the coffee table. The one she's looking for is at the bottom of the second stack, but like my inability to interfere, I also lack the willingness to speak.

I fold the stupid sheet I cried into all morning long and daydream about lopsided smiles and taps while my best friend, who reminds me too much of my boy, fucks with my mom.

"This one." Alice holds up the sex book. "Have you read it?" She flips through the pages, smiling.

She woke up before me. I don't know by how long, but when my eyes opened, Alice was in the kitchen eating cinnamon waffles and drinking chocolate soy milk.

She looks different, though. She's standing differently. Her eyes look more alive and vibrant blue than they have all week. Alice doesn't seem to be so disappointed anymore.

And then I know.

She spoke to Petey.

Mom's face turns red as her cheeks fill with blood. I smile, and it drains my energy, so I toss the sheet I folded to the side with the rest of them and lie on the couch.

"Where did you find that?" Mom grabs the book from Alice and tucks it under her arm. She flips her grayish-blonde hair over her shoulder and waits for her answer.

"It was mixed in with my books." I curl up on my side and close my eyes.

"Bella, were you crying?" Mom asks. Her embarrassed, defensive tone transforms into legit concern. It hurts my stomach.

I open up; both Alice and Mom are looking at me.

"Your face just looks puffy, baby." Mom comes closer. She tries to touch me, but I move away. I sit up and run a hand through my hair.

She's scrutinizing me. The sex book is forgotten; her poor Isabella Bliss is hurting and she doesn't know why. It's too constricting. More binding than not knowing where love is. It's in my throat, turning in my stomach. I have to be away from her.

"Mom, stop looking at me like that."

Alice's eyebrows rise up. She covers her mouth to keep from laughing.

"Don't talk to me like that, Isabella," Mom scolds. I hurt her feelings.

I scoot off the couch, step over blankets and head up the stairs. "I'm taking a shower."

"I'm coming!" Alice shouts, following my lead.

.

.

.

It's been two says since Edward called me. Alice is still over. Esme calls. My best girl won't go home, though. Esme begs for us to come stay with her for a while. She misses us. She's alone. Carlisle's buried himself in work.

"Well, have you talked to your brother, then?" Esme asks through the speakerphone when Alice tells her she had no intentions of coming home for a little while longer.

Alice rolls her eyes. "No, Mom. I haven't."

"Neither have we. We call him everyday, but—"

"Mom. I don't want to hear it, okay? I can't deal with all of this drama. I have a life. I have problems. Don't you ever worry about me?" She's crying. I've seen my girl cry more times in the last week than I have our entire friendship.

"At least I know you're safe, Alice," Esme answers sharply.

Alice hangs up the phone. She sits beside me on the bed and stares straight ahead. We're still in sleep clothes. We haven't been dressed once in nine days. Our hair is fucked up and our nails are chipped. It's like we forgot there's a world outside of my house. And even though I know she's hurting, I can't help but feel that she doesn't have it anywhere as bad as I do.

_She doesn't totally get it. _

"We should do something today," Alice finally speaks, wiping tears away from her watering blues. "Get out of the house. Call the boys. Do something."

The boys. I haven't spoken to Garrett once. I don't know if it's because I've been too embarrassed after what happened between us in Jasper's room, or if it's because I kind of, sort of blame him for Edward leaving. It wasn't his fault. It was all me. It would have been worse if it wasn't for Garrett. But the bitter heart is unreasoning, and I haven't wanted to deal with the other side of this sad true love story.

I've been too wrapped up in myself to think about him. Selfish, but real. There is only enough room for Edward. Even thinking about Garrett hurts, and pulls, and twists.

_Traitor. _

_Cheating, lying, traitor. _

Remembering how we were. How Garrett saw me: open, begging, _just do it. _I touched him. I smelled him, and laughed with him. I let him kiss me everywhere. I breathed in his warmth, and dug into his skin. Right then, I wanted him so bad. And if he had not stopped us, I would have given him something that was never his to begin with.

But that's not even the worst part.

The worst part is that I felt _something_.

Something that _does_ belong to him. Something in me that's not Edward's, but my skater boy's. Some need for genuine kindness and care. Something soft. Something that is tired of always wondering, and crying, and guessing, and assuming. Something that does not ever want to say yes to too much black and smirking lips.

Nothing near as coercive, or as overwhelming, or as concrete as what is Dusty's, but it's there.

And I hate it.

I hate it so much, because I want it.

Some peace.

"What do you have in mind?" I ask, sitting up. I hold a hand over my chest to keep it from falling apart.

I look for my cell phone, hidden in my sheets, because I need him. I need something. Something to make that other something go away.

_Tell me you love me,_ I text. _Edward, tell me now. _

"Maybe we can make a lemonade stand," Alice suggests. She goes into my closet and pulls out a piece of poster board I had left over from a science project last year. "Do you have lemons?"

_Don't make me,_ his reply reads.

"Um..." I try to keep myself here with Alice. I hoped he wouldn't reply at all. He hasn't been in contact with me once since he called.

"Is it a dumb idea?" She lays the white poster board on my bed, scented markers in hand.

I shake my head and smile, looking up. "No. Sounds like fun. Mom probably has some Minute Maid or something."

_Tell me,_ I type in.

"Good, because I can't stay inside anymore. It's summertime." Alice pulls her sleep shirt over her head, leaving herself topless. She goes through the clothes in my closet, looking for something to wear. A few tank tops fall to the carpet, but she keeps searching.

I wait for my phone to beep.

Alice chooses a geo print tube dress her mom bought for me a few months ago. She lets her hair down from its messy ponytail and shakes it out.

"Baby, get dressed," she tosses a similar dress my way.

I hate the way she says baby. It's like he's here. Their voices are alike, and I can almost feel the way he would whisper it against my skin, in my ear … on my lips. Like he means it. Like I'm everything to him.

"Let's be barefoot, like we used to do when we were little." She runs her fingers through washed-out pink strands and sprays some beach waves on her ends. Alice uses my chap-stick and pinches her cheeks until they're beautifully crimson. "Let's get dirty today."

Edward doesn't text me back, but reminiscing about unclean toes and playing outside until we smelled like puppies makes me smile. I open the top drawer of my nightstand, toss my phone in, and close it.

While I change into my summer dress, she separates my braid and smears lip gloss on my lips. It gets on my teeth, and we laugh. And I don't know how, but my dress is backwards. Alice and I both try to fix it, but we bump heads. So I straighten out yellow cotton while she applies some more gloss on my small smile. Only she puts too much, and it's gross.

"Alice!" I look for something to wipe it off on.

She kisses me instead.

And I kind of needed it; kind of, sort of like him, but smaller and not as deep. She holds my face in her hands and presses our lips together. Alice opens slightly, but only enough to soak up shimmery color.

It's over as soon as it started, and it's not weird or awkward or unusual. We're best friends. Simple.

Maybe our time isn't running out, after all.

In front of the mirror, Alice and I stand side-by-side. We're a fucking mess. Her hair is much worse than mine. Up higher on the left than the right, Alice refuses to brush out the huge tangle at the back of her head. My hair is crimped at the ends from the braid, but the top is lifeless and flat. I have strawberry flyaways and too much static. But this is good. This is carefree and fun, and just who we really are.

This is how we started out.

With the board and markers in hand, Alice opens my bedroom door and heads downstairs. I'm right behind her, until I hear my phone.

Standing in the door away, I consider not answering it. I know it's him. Every part of me kick-starts and reaches for my boy. I would usually never hesitate, but he made things different. He's forcing me to be without him.

And even though I should keep walking—I should go, and be, and not think about him while we sell lemonade—I don't. I turn and step toward my nightstand. I open the drawer and pull out my phone. I swallow my heart while I slide the lock on my cell.

And I smile while I read exactly what I needed to see: y_ou are the hole in my head. _

_._

_._

_._

"Where did you get a sling-shot, Al?" I place my feet in Alice's empty chair and extend my toes, soaking up the summer sun.

It's hot today. So hot. The air is noon-time muggy and smothering. We've had our lemonade stand up for a couple of hours, and the only people who've come by are a few deputies my dad probably forced over and a couple of my neighbors. We've made five dollars, though.

Ally slings another lemon wedge over my head. "Jasper bought it for me for my birthday, duh." She rolls by on her skateboard, shoeless and sweaty. Her rumpled hair is in a bun, and she holds her dress up when she skates, showing too much thigh.

"Speaking of Jasper," Alice says with bad intentions in her tone. She brings her board to a halt behind me and kicks it up into her hand. "He called me, and I answered."

"Yeah." I tilt my head back and watch her upside down through green-rimmed, star shaped sunglasses.

"They're working at the beach all day. They want us to come by after we're done selling Minute Maid." She shrugs, like she doesn't care.

She hasn't really spoken to Jasper since that night we went over there and they were laid up on the couch. Something is up … not only Petey, but another something.

"We can go," I say, not sure if I mean it or not, but knowing that I should.

Alice drops her board, but doesn't jump back on. It rolls into my parents' lawn. The willow tree branches are already so long, brushing a foot or two above the grass. Alice sits on my lap and looks at me; all playfulness is set aside.

"Do you think if we drive around … maybe ask Kim or Victoria—"

"Al," I stop her, even though the idea accelerates my heart pump.

She bites on her bottom lip and nods her head. "Yeah. Let's just go to the beach." I can tell she doesn't want to go.

So I say, "Maybe tomorrow."

.

.

.

Seven days turned into nine, and nine turned into eleven, and now it's been fourteen days since my boy has left, and he hasn't shown up. My best girl is still hiding under my covers, but it's getting better for the both of us. We stick to ourselves, but we're getting out the house more. We bought a slip n' slide from Target, and we've climbed trees in the forest behind my house.

My mom taught us how to make blueberry pumpkin muffins, and dad took us to see a movie in Port Angeles. Alice lets me take showers by myself, and even offered to go back to her own home. I wasn't ready to let her go back, though.

We watched the fireworks on the Fourth of July like we do every year. The typical smells of funnel cakes, corn dogs and popcorn swirled around us. The entire town was there, as usual. It was all utterly the same, but so fucking different. We watched the Little League baseball game; the same team the boys used to play on. I thought about how Kim wore her sunglasses through the fireworks show my first year here—the year of the lizard. I watched the fireworks in Edward's eyes; I was so captivated by him then. I remembered writing my name in the air with sparklers lit by my boy. I recall how scared I was when Alice's hair smoked with sparks.

I remember being invited to Edward's thirteenth birthday party on the car ride back to the Cullens' house.

He had blackberry cream cake.

I miss Carlisle and Esme, but I feel like they need to work on themselves before kids are thrown back into their mix. Alice says time alone has been good for them. They're dealing, just like she and I are. Being alone, together, reliving how it used to be. Alice's mom calls and questions about Dusty every day, but it's just the concerned mother in her. She isn't crazy like she was the first few days. Maybe they've somewhat accepted the fact that Edward is of legal age to make his own mistakes. Maybe that allows them to sleep at night. Maybe not. I don't know.

I haven't accepted it, but I've been able to talk to Edward a few times; they haven't. I know what he's up to. What he's doing. What kind of condition he's in. I don't know where he is, but sometimes I think it's better that I don't. It's him keeping me safe in his own little way, because Edward is up to no good. He's snorting the days away, spun and running.

"I can't get you out of my head," he cried on the phone last night. It was the third early morning phone call he'd given me in the two weeks he's been gone.

"Stop trying." I yawned. His convulsive intensity didn't affect me like the first two phone conversations we had did. Like when he was home, I expected it. I talked him down. "Come be with me."

"I'm not coming home, Bella!" he yelled. "Don't you get it, baby? Don't you understand yet?"

That's the problem; I do. I understand. I have all along. I knew from the first time I knocked on his bedroom door when I was eleven-years-old this was wrong. But it didn't stop me from going back. And after everything he put me through—the girls, the drugs, the absences—I never gave up on him, and now he's practically begging me to do it.

_I should. _

"You can't force me not to love you, Edward," I said in a bored tone, which only made him more angry. But I didn't care. I needed his anger to keep my own fueled.

Because I'm past being sad and feeling guilty, like I had some part in this stupidity. I'm livid.

"You sound so fucking heartfelt." He seethed.

"Whatever." I rolled over to stare at the ceiling. Alice was sound asleep.

"Don't be in love with me!" he shouted.

"Like it's that simple, Edward."

The conversation went on like that for over a hour, accompanied by little taps and inhales through his nose. Eventually, though, I got tired and agreed not to love him anymore, which didn't go over too well, and resulted in him crying like a fucking lunatic, begging me never to stop.

"You could never, right? You'll love me no matter what, right, baby? Right? We're forever." He sobbed. "Say it to me, Bliss. Say forever."

I wondered to myself, _when will we get out of this little hell,_ before promising, "forever."

"Hey."

Pulled away from my thoughts, I look up at Garrett. He's a slight-silhouette with the bright sun behind him; his rescue can is in his left hand, standing in the standard orange-red shorts all the lifeguards in the summer wear.

I hold my palm over my brow and smile, grateful he can't see my watery eyes under my sunglasses.

"Hey, Garrett," I say.

"I haven't seen you in a while," he says, shifting his footing.

I drop my hand and look out to the ocean. Alice is beside me, face down, sun-soaking. She turns her head at the sound of Garrett's voice and asks, "Where's your friend?"

Garrett shrugs. I internally clap, happy to have gotten out of that conversation with my skater boy.

"Around," he answers.

Alice leans up on her elbows. "With that girl Riley, or what?"

Garrett doesn't say anything. Alice lies back down, mumbling curse words under her breath.

"Can we talk?" Garrett finally asks. "I'm on my break."

I pull the strap on Alice's black halter bikini top and ask her if she's okay to be by herself for a little while.

She waves her hand and doesn't bother to look up. "Whatever."

I stand up. Garrett takes a few steps back. He looks out to the water while I brush sand off the back of my legs. I adjust the tie-sides of my bottoms and pull a white tank over my red and blue striped top. The sand is hot, so I slip my feet into my flip flops and tell Alice I'll be back soon.

Garrett and I don't talk on the walk over to the food stand. Girls look at him, and it makes me smile. He's so oblivious and lost in thought. This boy has an intellectual mind, and he's probably thinking about art or religion, or something just as complex: love.

Even in a place like this, surrounded by sun and sand, his mind is dissecting more important things.

Boys like Garrett alter the world with their brilliance.

"Do you know what you want?" he asks, setting his rescue can on the table. Garrett still isn't looking at me. He searches at the menu, contemplating.

I pull out the red plastic chair from under the blue table and sit. "What are you getting?" I ask.

Finally, I get his eyes. He smiles a little.

"Fries. A Coke." And that's all.

"I'll have that, too."

He waits for our food by the window instead of sitting with me while our fries cook. He says a few words to the girl who took our order. I try not to look at him. I stare at the graffiti engraved on the plastic table. I look at the people walking, riding, and running by the boardwalk. I definitely don't look down at the dock. But after a few minutes, my eyes naturally fall back on my skater boy.

It makes total fucking sense he's a lifeguard, saving lives. It's completely in his character to put others before of himself. He's errorless. He never speaks too much. He's nice. He's unselfish. He's dexterous and patient. He is absolutely everything that Edward is not.

_Why can't that be enough?_

There is a future with this person if I wanted it. Nice and neat, tied with a bow. Drug-free, drama-free, honest.

"I got you some ketchup if you want it." Garrett sets my fries and soda down in front of me, passing me a handful of ketchup packets.

"Thank you," I say softly.

He pulls his chair out and sits across from me. Garrett eats his fries four and five at a time. He chews with his mouth closed and uses his napkin. He gets a drop of ketchup on his white tee shirt and actually cusses.

"Fuck." He smears it with his napkin.

I take the lid off my soda, slip a piece of ice between my lips and suck on it until the only thing I taste is cold water. I drop it into the palm of my hand and get up to help Garrett. I circle frozen liquid on his stain until it fades from red to lightish-pink.

"Want to talk?" I ask when I sit back down in my seat across from him.

His dimples are fucking beautiful.

"Yeah."

I eat a fry. "About the last time we were together?"

He nods and takes a drink from his soda. "Yeah."

I eat another french fry. I drink from my straw. I wipe my hands on my thighs. "I was upset."

"I remember." He smiles.

"I shouldn't have taken advantage of you." I sound stupid.

Garrett coughs on his Coke. He laughs. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and says,"Don't make me seem like I'm some victim," he jokes.

I blush. "I'm saving myself," I blurt out. "for marriage."

He nods, and that's it.

"I like you." Chew, chew, chew. Swallow. "But I kind of need some time. Maybe."

The right corner of his mouth lifts. He opens another packet of ketchup and squirts it on his fries.

"And I feel like maybe we've been going in circles since we were fourteen years old." I drink my soda until it slurps at the bottom of the cup.

"So what now?" he sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. He's really asking me.

I change the subject. "Is Jasper really dating that Riley girl?"

I simmer under Garrett's stare. His face never gives anything away, but I can feel his dissatisfaction. I could so easily ask Garrett what he wants from me … what he expects. But I don't. I'm afraid of his answer. I'm afraid I might want to give it to him.

Garrett clears his throat and drops his arms to the table. He rips up a napkin. "She's just a girl," he says.

I roll my eyes and laugh. I shake the ice in my paper cup."Lauren said she saw them at the mall. Who is she?"

His brown eyes search my face. He takes the top off of his drink and slides a piece of ice into his mouth. "Riley."

"I know her name, Garrett. Who is she to Jasper?"

"Nothing. They talk. They hang out." He piles all of our trash together and gets up to toss it out.

I follow with his rescue can. "Where did she come from?"

He rubs his face with the palms of his hands. "She's here for the summer. Staying with some family in La Push or some shit. It's not a big deal."

Garrett and I walk back to Alice in an awkward silence. It's stupid, but I feel like he owes me more. Like, he should have told me about this Riley girl and Jasper before Alice had to hear it from someone else. But that's dumb. He doesn't owe me shit.

When we get back to the beach, Jas is with my girl. She's standing a few feet in front of him. Her arms are at her sides; her hands are fisted. She's crying again. She's yelling at him, on the beach, in front of everyone.

"Explain her to me, Jasper!" she cries. Tears fall down her cheeks from behind her glasses.

Jasper just shakes his head and crosses his arms. His eyes are sad; so verbal and broad. He's in cutoff shorts and a green tee. His skateboard is on Alice's towel, thrown upside down. He's not here to work. He's here for Al. Either to inform, or break things off.

"Jas," she cries harder, taking a step toward him. "Use your fucking words, J! Who the fuck is she?"

A few passer-by watch the confrontation. Mothers move their kids along, while others stop and watch. I walk faster. Garrett reaches them before I do.

"You're a fucking punk, you know that?" Alice laughs through her cries. She tries to hit him, but I catch her arm.

"He's with her, Bella." Her tone is edging hysterical. She talks to me like he isn't even there. "He's been with that girl and he won't even tell me."

I wrap my arms around her and turn her away from Jasper. The stress in her tone, the groan coming from her chest tells me she can't handle much more. I sit her down own her towel and push Jasper's skateboard away. He takes the hint and picks it up.

"Al," Jasper tries. He seems wounded.

"Get the fuck away from me!" she turns and screams, frustrated.

He goes.

Garrett says goodbye with his eyes and follows his friend.

I sit behind my girl and wrap my legs around her waist. I lie my chin on her shoulder and let her cry. Maybe I do a little too.

.

.

.

It's been about four weeks since Edward's been gone and time is slowly beginning to become normal again: minutes, hours, days, weeks. I'm sleeping better. I actually brush my hair. Last night Alice and I invited Leah, Lauren and Rosalie over. We made caramel apples and looked up porn on the internet. It was strange, but so easy.

The girls spoke about their experiences after we got grossed out, and I listened for the most part. Alice talked about Jasper like he hadn't just broke her heart, and Lauren spoke about Paul. Leah told a few different stories, and I think we were all kind of, sort of surprised to learn that shy little Leah was more experienced than any of us.

They eventually asked me about Garrett, so I told them what I knew: he's warm, and big, and smooth. He's an excellent kisser. I like his smile … and his lower back is to die for.

Alice squealed.

Rose, dressed in teal knit overalls and a purple lace bandeau, told us about her boy from New York. She flew to see him at the beginning of summer, with plans to go one more time before school starts.

"He wanted to stick it where the sun don't shine," she said, "but I said no." Rose waved her hand like it was nothing when we all cringed. "Then I said yes, and it wasn't so bad."

I laughed until I cried. I ate junk food and slept beside my friends. I was comfortable.

I've been feeling okay. I'm handling myself. The thought of Edward's absence doesn't pang so much. I think about him every five minutes as opposed to every thirty seconds. Alice can say his name without my chest caving in. I wonder where he is still, but the sting has numbed a little.

I haven't talked to Edward since the last time. No texts. No new messages. Nothing. I tried him once, but he didn't answer. I haven't tried again. I have weak moments, though. Sometimes I just need to hear his voice, so I listen to old voicemails and cry a little. I love his sweater at night after Alice has gone to sleep. I look at pictures.

I might be able to do this. I might be able to handle the distance. I might be able to be what he needs me to be until he gets back, even though every new day he's gone is longer than the day before. I can be here at the end of this.

Love takes effort, and I love him more than I did yesterday.

But tomorrow is his birthday, and I don't know how I'll deal with that.


	29. This is all Now

**We do not own Twilight. **

**I would like to thank my treadmill and Sarah's candy apples for pretty much writing this story for us. Kanye West, Pusha-T, Florence and the Machine, and the always trusty Taking Back Sunday – you are all the music of my heart. **

**Thanks to ****Vladimir Nabokov**** for writing Lolita. It's fucked up and surreal, but so fucking thought provoking and epic. A true work of art. **

"_And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita."_

**To all of the readers who've stuck around through each chapter, (if there are any of you left) thank you! **

**YellowGlue: my inspiration. **

**LovelyBrutal: our beta girl. **

**Taking Back Sunday – This is all Now: **_You live in a shelter, built from your own truth. There's so many things you don't want me … you don't want me to know. _

_I am owed this now. _

**Chapter 28 – Strawberry Blonde**

July 14th.

It's Edward's nineteenth birthday.

"We should just go there, right? I mean, I have to get some more clothes anyway." Alice turns on her side and faces me in my bed.

With a blanket over her head like a nun, she's cozied up and snuggled, Eskimo-style. Safe. Alice's toes find mine under the sheets. The polish isn't chipped anymore. We painted them last night: razzmatazz red-pink for me, and pale-turquoise for my girl. We shaved our legs and plucked each others eyebrows. We recolored Alice's hair. It's pink again, with dark violet tips and a little bit of green in her bangs. She even let me pin empty Coke cans in her hair to see if it would curl.

It did, and it was awesome.

"We should go," I encourage, pulling the sunrise colored sheet over my shoulder. "You should see your mom."

"She's probably drunk," Alice says. She rolls her eyes. "Like always."

"She's sad, Al," I remind her.

"Me, too." She sighs.

"Me too," I agree.

After Alice and I take turns showering, she dresses in a pair of yellow matelot shorts and a plain white tee shirt. I slip into a pair of black side-fringed denim cutoffs and a yellow button-up cami. I blow dry my hair and curl it after. Alice leaves her hair voluminous Coke-can-curly.

We're quiet the entire time.

Mom comes up and asks where we're going. She starts picking up our towels from the floor in my bedroom.

With eyeliner in hand, I stop applying it on Alice's eyelid to say, "Mom, I can clean my own room."

I smile. I try to make it sound genuine. Mom's happy I've been spending so much time at home. And it took her a couple of weeks to realize that Alice and I just needed to do our own thing and back off, but she still hovers.

She still asks too many questions. Like, _"When is Alice going home, Bliss?" "How's Edward's trip going?" _and_ "Have you thought anymore about school, Isabella? Because the new school year is about to start and I don't recall you sending out any applications. Bella, are you listening to me? Have you been crying? Why do I feel like you're always crying? Don't talk to me like that, Bella. Maybe Alice needs to go home. Maybe we need to have a talk with your father. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe." _

"It's fine, baby. I like doing this for you." Mom pats the top of my head. "So, where did you say you were going?"

"I didn't," I say evenly, returning to Alice's eyes. With my girl, the thicker the better. The hard part is making the line level.

"It's my brother's birthday, Mrs. Cullen." Alice's breath smells like Crest Fairies Toothpaste.

Mom sits on the edge of my bed. My girl and I are on the floor in front of my full length mirror. We're sitting criss-cross and close. The Coke cans from last night are littered around us. We just kind of kicked them to the side.

"Oh, he's home?" Mom's tone is questioning. She brushes some sand out of my bedsheets.

Alice turns her head to look at my mom. She has one eye lined and the other bare. "You look really pretty today, Mrs. Swan." She turns back to me with a blank face.

Mom blushes. She smiles. She's really too easy. And Alice is really too condescending.

"Okay. But be home early, Bliss." Mom stands with a armful of dirty clothes.

"Okay," I say more than cheerfully.

After we're ready, Alice and I argue over who's going to drive today. And it's one of those moments when I'm not even thinking about him. I miss him always, and I feel his absence, but there's nothing in this argument that reminds me of Edward. It's separate from him. Until Alice says, "You're acting like a child, strawberry-blonde," and it hits me like a brick wall. All at once. So fast. So hard.

_He's not here. _

I would double over if she wasn't standing here. I'd probably drop to my knees. It's that bad. It hurts that much. My mind refuses to believe he took off.

_Call him, call him, call him._

Pain gnaws at my ribs from the inside; this ache is internal and demanding to be felt. It ripples through my veins, thick and rich, from head to toe. It soaks in deep, making itself a home. It laughs at my expense, stab, stab, stabbing until I want to scream and stab back. At something. At anyone. At him.

I clear my throat and put my sunnies on. I separate a few of my berry curls to keep my hands busy.

"I'll just drive, Alice." I leave my hair alone and search through my handbag for my keys, happy for the distraction.

A few tears settle on the frames on my sunglasses. I groan and drop my bag.

"Shit, B. I'll drive. Calm down." Alice picks up my bag and heads toward her Jeep parked in front of my house.

I chase after her. "I can drive."

My chin quivers, but I don't let her see. I have my keys in my hand; I jiggle them in the air. "I'm already starting the car."

She looks at me skeptically.

"I have the top down," I say optimistically with a forced, fake smile. "You know you wanna."

Alice gives in and jumps into the Rabbit. I start up and drive away as fast as I can. I accelerate a few miles over the speed limit, shifting the car into third gear. I need the air in my face. I need the clarity it offers. Sweet summertime scented air sweeps through my hair, fluttering it around my head. Alice's sherbert colored assortment flies higher in the wind. We shake our heads and relish the sunlight. Our strands become tangled while they dance in the wind, but we don't care. We laugh. And when I have to stop at a stop light, we take quick pictures with our cellphones and laugh some more.

We're still giggling when we reach the Cullens' driveway. A small part of me expects to see the Continental in front of the house. And even though I know it won't be, I'm still disappointed when it's not there. His space is empty. An oil stain from a leak the Lincoln had a while back is stained on the concrete where he's usually parked. Esme's Mercedes is in front of the garage. Carlisle isn't here.

I park on the side of the house.

"We shouldn't stay long," Alice says, leaping out of my car. "Let's go to the beach and buy those corn on the cobs from that Mexican vendor. You know, the ones with all the butter, cheese and super hot chili."

I walk around the trunk of my car. I kick a rock and my toes get dirty through my t-strap sandals. Alice waits for me, and then takes my hand.

"Say yes," she says.

"Yes." I smile.

We take the steps, hand-in-hand, up to the porch. I keep my eyes away from the swing where Edward and I first made our rules. Where I've sat plenty of times before, watching my girl skate while my boys sat next to me. Where Edward rubbed my feet while my head was in Ben's lap.

We don't knock on the door, even though I feel like we should. Alice walks right in; the smell of familiarity and comfort sink right into me, giving me goosebumps. Everything is the same, utterly. The placement of the furniture, the pictures on the wall, the kitchen is where it's supposed to be, the stairs, the TV … I expected it to all look different. Be different.

The only thing out of the ordinary is the feel.

He's not home. My body knows it. I can sense his absence here more than I have the entire time he's been gone, and I hate it. I want to turn and run. I don't want to be anywhere near this place. Near his things. His room. His bed.

Alice calls out for Esme, but we find her before she answers. Esme's in the kitchen. Her hands are on the granite counter top. A mug of coffee steams in front of her. Her head is down and her eyes are closed. My best friend's mom is dressed casual: jeans and a black tank top. Her feet are bare and her hair is wet and left down.

"Hey, Mom." Alice walks in ahead of me. She pulls out a stool across from her mother and sits.

Esme's head lifts up. I kind of, sort of expect her to cry, but she doesn't. She walks around the island, takes her daughter in her arms, and hugs her. Then she cries.

"Mom, this is exactly why I didn't want to come home." Alice doesn't mean it, though. She returns the embrace.

After we spend a little time saying hello and hugging, the three of us sit at the dinner table to talk. Esme brings the coffee pot and three mugs.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I mean, was I supposed to buy him a cake in case he comes home? Do I call and beg him to come back?" she asks, not necessarily looking for a answer.

"Mom." Alice groans.

Esme continues, "What if he shows up and thinks none of us give a shit about him because I didn't buy a fucking cake for his birthday?"

"He's not coming home, Mom." Alice picks at her nail polish.

"That's why I didn't buy one," Esme says irritably.

We chat about nothing and fill in the empty space. Esme says I've gotten taller and my hair has gotten longer. "You both look older," she says. She tells us about her and Carlisle. "He's angry." She sighs. "He wants to toss all of Edward's shit out on the lawn, but I won't let him."

I'm not surprised. I know Carlisle's anger well.

"He talked to him," Esme says nonchalantly.

Mine and Alice's heads snap up. My heart starts beat, beat, beating. My girl sits forward and asks, "When?"

Esme takes a drink from her mug. "A couple of days ago. Dusty called, and your dad answered."

"What did he say?" Alice is getting frustrated. She's like her dad and brother in that way; they have short fuses, where Esme can handle a lot as long as she has a glass of Merlot in her hand.

"Nothing. What the fuck does Edward ever say, Alice? He's alive. He's not coming home." Esme runs her hair through her damp hair. "He told your dad to mind his own fucking business and hung up."

Alice's shoulders fall. "He called dad to tell him to fuck off?"

"I don't know why he called, Alice." She's getting defensive.

Esme has lack-of-sleep purple beneath her eyes._ She_ looks older, like she's aged five years in a month. Her usually perfectly colored hair has roots and a few grays are showing. She isn't wearing any makeup, and her manicure is less than stellar. There's dust on the dinner table and dirty dishes in the sink.

The deeper I look, the more I see. There are empty wine glasses left all over the house, and the trash is full. No one is running up and down the stairs. No one is laughing. Baseball bags aren't dropped by the front door. The TV isn't on, even for noise.

One person did this. One boy changed the dynamic of this house.

"Your dad told him he was going to trace his credit card if he didn't come home," Esme says. "That's when the conversation ended. Your brother is nineteen years old, Al. He can do whatever he wants."

Alice scoffs. "Is he really going to trace his card?"

Esme shakes her head. "No."

When the topic becomes too depressing for any of us to say another word, Alice and I head upstairs. All of the doors are closed down the hallway: Alice's room, Esme and Carlisle's, the bathroom. Edward's.

I consider lying to Alice. I think about telling her I have to use the restroom so I don't have to follow her into her room. Self-preservation isn't a concern to me anymore, and I no longer want to run. I want to stay and search. I need to be sure there isn't a part of him he left behind for me to have. I think about opening his door and crumbling on to his bed. I debate whether or not it would make me feel better, or make this that much worse. Touching his sheets. Lying my head on his pillow. Being inside of those walls. Our dividers.

I go in with Alice.

Her room makes me smile. This place has remained untouched. Her bed is unmade, and our pillows still have our head-prints from the last time we slept in them thirty days ago. Two half-full water bottles sit on her nightstand, our pajamas we wore here last are bunched and piled on the carpet, and it smells like hairspray and dirty clothes. There's a picture of Jasper on her dresser beside her stereo. Alice knocks it over and plugs in her iPod. Twothirtyeight's_ 'sticks are woven in the spokes' _quietly plays through the speakers, low enough for us to think and talk over.

My girl jumps into her bed. "Does it feel good to be here again, or what?"

I sit beside her. "Yeah." Lie.

"Should we stay here tonight?" she asks, bunching her pillow beneath her head.

I shrug, picking at a loose thread on her sheet.

"It's weird without him here, right? I'm not fucking crazy for feeling this way, am I?"

I shake my head. "No." Not a lie.

.

.

.

"Did you call Garrett?" Alice lifts her flat black and hot pink beach cruiser into the trunk of my Rabbit.

"Yes, Alice. I called him." I slip in behind the wheel. I start the car. She tries to shut the trunk, but the bike is too big. "It's fine, leave it. I'll drive slow," I call out.

She jumps in. "Are they there?"

I straighten out my rear view mirror and put the car in reverse. "Yes."

"Working?"

"Yep." I put the car in first and drive forward, away from the Cullens'. Away from his room. Away from his empty spot.

"Do you think she's there?"

I bite on my bottom lip. "He didn't say. I didn't ask about her."

Alice nods and sets her elbow on the door, gliding her hand, up and down through the wind in waves. "If she is, I'm hitting her over the head with my skateboard."

I roll my eyes and turn up the stereo. This week's annoying, can't-get-this-out-of-your-head pop song plays too loud. But it's cool. I shift gears and sing, and so does Alice.

We scream the lyrics in our most awful and out of tune voices. The wind captures our hair again, whipping and tangling it. The trunk of the car slams on the bike. My throat hurts, but I keep belting the catchy lyrics. We approach a stop light, and in the car next to us, a man and his wife laugh while we get the words wrong and pretend we know what we're singing.

Top 40 isn't usually our thing.

And as the song changes and we continue to sing along, it dawns on me that this is the first time in years that I've done this. Just been. I'm only Alice Cullen's best friend. I'm Charlie and Renee Swan's only child. I'm just a girl in a car, singing shitty music. I have nowhere to be, nothing to hide, no secrets in my pocket where my phone is.

I'm just Bliss.

During this clarity, I wonder, _but_ _who the fuck am I? _

What do I want to be when I get older? What college do I really want to go to? Am I a good person? Being with Edward, I've taken on this second persona for so long that I don't even know exactly what I want if he isn't an option.

_Nothing. I don't want anything. _

What am I other than a liar? There has to be more to me than this secret. There has to be something.

Alice shakes my arm. "You're not singing."

I smile.

This smile is familiar, though. It's a lie. "Al?"

"Yes, my dear." She turns the music down.

The air begins to smell like salt water and sand, and the ocean looks like diamonds. We curve around the mountainside; wildflowers and shrubs grow, decorating its hard, dusty surface. The sky is beautiful, spotless and pristine. The sun is high, and cars are parked every and anywhere. We pass the jumping cliffs. We pass surfers walking with their boards and paddles under their arm, their destination: the Pacific. We drive by families, tourists, and people riding their bikes, stray dogs, and kids with beach balls.

Life goes on.

For everyone else, life keeps moving.

With both hands on the wheel, I laugh out loud. "I don't know what I want to do after I graduate from high school. I've never thought about it."

She waves me away with a scoff. "So fucking what? We have our entire lives to think about it. We'll study stupid shit like Botany or Meteorology."

I smile. Not a lie. "Logic," I offer.

Alice laughs loudly. All of her teeth show, and she holds her hands over her stomach. "Yes, we'll major in Logic since neither of us seem to have any."

"Folklore and Mythology!" I say with a giggle.

Alice stops laughing. "That's a good one." She's dead serious.

_._

_._

_._

I leave my phone in the car when Alice and I get out. He won't call.

The day is so nice and the sun is so far up, so the beach is overfull and thriving. I can't see much of the shore because I had to park so far back, but I can see the lifeguard towers. I just don't know who is sitting at each one. Garrett said he was working today; I just didn't tell him we would be coming by.

"Do you think Jasper will be mad we're here?" I ask Alice, straddling her bike.

She drops her board to the ground and holds it still with her bare foot. She gathers pink and violet and ties her hair in a pony tail at the top of her head. Her greenish bangs hang over her right eye.

"Who gives a fuck? This isn't his beach." Alice jumps on her skateboard and pushes away to roll. "I don't see his name on it."

I pedal and follow her lead.

I immediately feel guilty for leaving my phone in the Rabbit.

_What if Edward calls and needs my help? What if his call goes unanswered?What if he needs me to come get him?_

_I should go back. _

_No. _

I'm pedaling slowly behind a so-good-on-her-board Alice. She bends at her knees and holds her arms out at her sides for momentum. People on the sidewalk move out of her way. A few people complain about her skating on the sidewalk.

"What the fuck is it for, then?" Alice screams out with a laugh.

I'm riding faster to keep with my my four wheeled girl. I'm more polite, though. "Excuse me," I say. "Coming though," I warn.

We roll down the beach, getting closer and closer to the dock I've spent so much time avoiding. I don't even look in its direction because I know it's there. I turn, turn, turn my bicycle pedals, keeping up with my best friend. Her ponytail has fallen to the side; the bottoms of her feet are already dirty.

She spots the corn man and stands up to point. She isn't looking and her wheel gets caught on a rock; she flies off.

Alice is a gliding-though-the-air mess of pink and green and purple and scream. She hits the sand with a loud thump. Her board flips end over end until it lands on the other side of the sidewalk. Someone picks it up for her. I skid to a halt and jump off the bike.

"Stop the corn guy!" she yells, holding her bloody elbow.

"Alice." I sigh, helping her up.

Everyone is kind of, sort of looking, but they're not. She's fine. "The stupid girl skater shouldn't be skating here anyway," someone says.

Alice claims her board and jumps back on. Sand is stuck to her knees and her right elbow is dripping blood down her forearm, into her palm. Instead of going straight to the vendor selling the Mexican corn, we go to the window where they sell the food. The same place Garrett bought me fries and a coke a few weeks ago.

The girl behind the counter takes one look at us and freezes.

I recognize her from the last time I was here with my skater boy. Brown hair, deep brown freckles, green eyes.

"Can I have some napkins, please?" Alice turns her arm over to get a better look at her injury.

I'm looking at the girl, who's nodding. _She knows who we are. _

There's a line of people behind us, so Alice takes the napkins and walks away. The brown haired, freckle-faced girl watches until we sit at the dirty, been-carved-into plastic table with the cheap red umbrella over it.

"That was so awesome." Alice dabs her bloodied wound.

I've seen this girl fall more times than I care to remember. This is nothing, and fazes me none. But that girl at the counter...

"You know who that was, Alice, right?" I ask. I steal one of her brown recycled-paper napkins and help clean off my best girl's arm and hand. Some of it won't come off, so I lick a clean spot of the napkin and rub some more.

"What? Who?" Alice is looking around. She pulls her arm out of my grip, but keeps her cut covered with her hand. "Do you see Jasper or something?"

I sit back in hard plastic. I shake my head. "The girl at the window."

Alice looks back toward the food place. "No."

"Riley."

"Shut the fuck up!" She stands, earning us some more dirty looks. "Are you kidding me, Bliss?" Alice turns toward me with hysteria behind her eyes.

"I think so." I collect the blood soiled napkins. "I saw her when I was here with Garrett, but he didn't say anything."

"So, how do you know?" Alice is back to looking for the girl who stole her not-in-a-relationship-boyfriend.

I'm about to shrug and tell Alice that it's probably not her. _We should just go,_ I want to say—I should say. I should never have said anything at all. But fate is an evil bitch, spiteful like the suffering in my chest left from my boy. They probably work together, fate and suffering, changing expected outcomes and killing teenage dreams, rupturing hearts and hopes.

Fate blanks the disappointment in my chest with suffering, and then slaps Alice right across the face with it.

It takes a moment for Alice to realize that it's Jasper at the window talking to Freckle-face. Like, her mind can't process that the boy who has always been hers, might not belong to her anymore.

Even though she hasn't been completely his for a long time. Maybe she never has.

She makes a noise. A whimper. Alice's entire stance changes from slack and loose to stiff and firm.

"Let's just go, Al." My heart is a hummingbird, fluttering nervousness.

I welcome this, though. It's a distraction from my life and the date. My heart flies for her, not for Edward. I feel her anxiety, not my own. It's so fucked up, but I want this—I need this confrontation. Alice's disorder mutes the chaos going on in my own head. And it's feeding some kind of dysfunctional urge I have. The excitement I feel when I fight with Edward, or when I deal with his drug binges and come downs, I feel now. It flows frigid through my veins. Sparks and triggers and electric currents set off in my brain. Endorphins swim and spread and ease.

This supplies my addiction.

Jasper sees Alice and he kind of, sort of moves away from the food window. Riley disappears from sight, only to reappear when she exits a side door and starts walking toward us. Her hair is longer than I thought: sheet straight and parted down the side, it's waist length and lustrous. She's tall, thin and normal. Boring.

She's so dull looking, and Jasper is an idiot. Or incredibly intelligent.

My girl ripples with anger. A tear falls from the corner of her left eye, but it's not from sadness. She's not sad about this. Maybe she's upset and thinks she's upset, but Alice has no idea how it really feels to have the person you love more than anything not be with you, or be with someone else.

Jas approaches us. Alice takes a few barefooted steps in his direction and knocks the rescue can out of his hand.

His expression is uncharacteristically put off and bothered. He picks up his can and shoves it under his arm. "What?" he asks.

Alice pushes her fist into his chest. Jasper lets her.

I don't know what to do, so I pick up Alice's board and try to give them some space.

"I'm not talking to you about this here, Alice," Jasper says lowly, but loud enough for me to hear.

Alice disregards anything and everything he says. "You're with her? Out in the open, everyone knows … you're with that girl?" She points over Jasper's shoulder toward Riley.

Jasper attempts to walk around his furious girl. "I have to get back to work." His eyes meet mine as he tries to walk away. And I know. He's hurting, and he loves Alice, but sometimes it's too much. Being second choice is not effortless.

It's so much easier choosing the alternative.

But I can't.

_Can he?_

Alice pulls on Jasper's shirt. It splits at the neck.

The sound of stretching cotton gives me the chills. I've done that same exact thing so many times to Edward—pulled and tugged and torn and ripped until he finally paid attention to me.

Unlike Edward, though, Jasper carefully places his hand on Alice's hurt elbow and guides her away from the crowd. He takes her to the sand. I stay where I am and watch them talk. I watch Jasper verbalize with his eyes while Alice screams and points and yells. She kicks sand and punches Jasper a few more times. He holds onto her wrists and speaks so slowly, quietly, I can't even read his lips.

But I can read Alice's. "I fucking hate you," she sobs. "You're doing this, not me. Not me, Jasper!"

He shakes his head.

Then he says, too frustrated to stay quiet, clearly enough for me and everyone else to hear, "But you're fucking Petey."

Alice smacks him. Riley runs past me. I chase after her.

I drop the skateboard by the bike and rush toward my friend. Jasper's trying to keep them apart, but Alice is too squirrelly and Riley's limbs are too long. The same people who were giving us dirty looks earlier, aren't even looking in our direction anymore. They can't be bothered with a handful of rowdy adolescents.

I try to help by pulling Riley away since she's closest to me, but she fights me off and elbows me in the chest.

"Hey!" I cough, and then I laugh because it hurt. I've spent over a month feeling nothing but emotional torture, but I feel this.

I feel where the point of her elbow bone hit my thorax. It throbs and aches. I might even have a bruise in a couple of hours. I have tears in my eyes, not caused by being left.

I stumble back, trying to catch my breath. Tears blur my vision, but I see Riley swing at Alice, though. I see Jasper push his new girl away, trying to protect his old one. Alice manages to get past Jasper and hit Riley in the cheek, but Riley has at least a foot on Alice length wise. No effort at all is made when the girl with the freckles pulls her fist back and lunges forward, decking my best friend right in the mouth. Hard.

Alice falls on her bottom. Her mouth is bleeding down her chin, onto her white tee.

That gets everyone's attention. Gasps and screams and sharp intakes of breath come from the crowd of people who are slowly circling around us. Down the sidewalk, security guards on their bicycles are making their way to us. An older man in bright blue swim trunks points in our direction.

Alice spits into the sand. Jasper's bent down to see if she's okay, but she pushes him away and sprints toward Riley. I motion in to help, to do something, but my wrist is pulled and I'm being pushed back.

"Are you fucking kidding?" Garrett says as he moves past me. His disappointment does nothing for me.

A few other people eventually take the liberty of breaking up the fight. Some man holds my girl back by her forearm. With a red lip, she tells him he's hurting her, but he doesn't let up.

_If the boys were here, this would never have happened. _

"Let her go," I say, trying to pry the man's fingers back. He pushes me away. "She said you're hurting her!" I yell.

I look around for Jasper and Garrett; they're with Riley and the two security guards who were on the bicycles.

Riley's hair is pulled and knotted. Her arms are crossed over her chest. The left strap of her charcoal gray tank top is torn and hanging loose. Security's asking her questions and she points at Alice, but shakes her head. She doesn't use her hands when she speaks. Her face doesn't really change.

Jasper sighs and shrugs and says, "It was a misunderstanding."

The man holding Alice finally lets her go when one of the security officers beckons her over. We hold hands. Alice spits more blood.

"I'm going to kill that bitch," she mumbles under her breath.

"What happened?" Brad, the bicycle security guy asks us.

While Alice explains, I notice Riley has wandered back to her job. The person who must be her boss has met her by the side door she came out of. He's wiping his hands off on his white apron, looking over at us.

Jasper and Garrett are both standing back. I feel like calling them traitors, but I don't want to cause any more problems.

"What's your name?" Brad asks me.

I look away from the treasonous boys and into the brown eyes of the fake-cop. "Isabella Swan," I say hesitantly.

He takes his sunglasses off and takes a better look at my face; he has raccoon eyes. "Chief Swan's daughter?"

My shoulders fall. I'm going to be in so much trouble if he tells my dad. "Yes."

He stares at me for a while. Then he looks at Alice. Our joined hands are sweating, and the crowd is beginning to thin. Alice wipes blood away from her mouth with the back of her other hand. Brad sighs.

"Get out of here before I call your dad to come get you," he says.

Alice and I straighten up. I smile widely. Alice squeezes my hand.

Brad points a finger in my face. "I don't want to see you here for the rest of the day."

"Okay!" I laugh.

Alice and I don't wait for him to warn us again. We run through the sand, past Jasper and Garrett, and grab our things. She hops on her board, I jump onto the bike, and we go. I stand up, with my feet on the pedals and the salty, sandy air breezing through my strawberry-blonde. Alice is quick with her feet. She pushes and rolls, pushes and rolls.

I pedal ahead of her so she can grab the back of my seat. People move out of our way. She grabs on. I look back and she's smiling.

"Alice!" I swerve but correct myself. "Your tooth is chipped again!"

"What?" She holds onto the cruiser seat with one hand and touches her mouth with the other. "No!" she yells with a smile, all chipped and swollen and bloody-ruby.

When we get to the parking lot, Alice goes off the curb and rolls toward the Rabbit. I get off of the beach cruiser and carefully push it over. I walk it the rest of the way.

By the time I make it to the car, Alice is already in the front seat looking at her mouth and broken tooth in the sun visor mirror.

"I can't fucking believe this happened, Bella," she yells, kicking her feet.

I laugh and unlock the trunk. I'm trying to figure out how Alice fit the bike in on the way here, because I don't see how it will fit at all.

"Al—" I call when Jake Black comes out of nowhere and takes the cruiser from me.

"Need some help?" he asks. Not that he should have bothered; he took it upon himself anyway.

"Thanks," I say, taking a few steps back.

Jake maneuvers the bike into my trunk even better than Alice did the first time. I look at his face; he's wearing a hat, but his blonde hair is sticking out from beneath it. It's sun-bleached and sea-thirsty. His skin is dark from days spent under the rays. His neon green and black board shorts hang low, and his feet are bare.

He has a scar on his eyebrow where Dusty hit him last year.

"Good?" he asks, closing the trunk as much as he can.

"Thanks, Jake," I say. I smile and open the driver's side door.

Alice turns in her seat. "Hey, have you seen my brother around?"

I close my eyes and take a breath.

I haven't really thought about him since before the fight with Riley. Hearing his name in this context splinters my insides. My heart caves in, the hole throbs … my jaw aches.

"Nah," Jake says. He lifts up his hand and runs it through yellow hair. "I just saw Pete at the gas station with Ben, though."

My girl practically stands in the seat. "Petey? He's back in Forks?"

Jake laughs. "Yeah, I guess."

"But Edward wasn't with him?" My heart is pounding so hard and so fast, I can feel it in the tips of my teeth.

"I haven't seen Cullen in a while." He steps away from the car. I open the door with heavy arms. Alice flips onto her butt and types away on her phone.

She doesn't even do a good job of keeping her relationship with Petey a secret anymore.

"Hey," Jake calls for me. "Come to my house tonight." I shake my head, about to decline when he stops me. "I'm having a party. Just cruise by. Free beer." He smiles, and he's kind of, sort of beautiful.

"We'll be there," Alice says from inside the car. She holds her hand up and wiggles her fingers.

"Sweet," Jake says as he runs away.

I slip into the car and stick the key into the ignition. "Really?"

Alice hides her phone between her legs. She shrugs. "We can ask around about my brother."

I shift the car into reverse and sigh. "Where to, Al?"

"Let's get ready at my house." she answers, back to typing on her phone. "Your mom is starting to freak me out."

I feel like screaming.

.

.

.

"Do I look stupid, princess Bliss?" Alice asks.

She smiles in the mirror and there's no hiding her chipped tooth. Her lips are swollen and look they've been injected with botox. She has a small bruise on her chin, and her elbow is still pretty raw. But my girl looks bold-beautiful and tough in her ripped up leggings and old Ramones band tee. Her hair is straight and bright colored, and her lips are red and her eyes are kohl-black-lined.

Almost like this afternoon didn't even happen.

I slip my feet into my black heels and straighten out the red belt on my black romper. My hair is up in a loose bun and my makeup is perfect.

Alice grabs her Docs and gets up from the floor. "I have to pee," she says as she walks out of her bedroom.

I sit on her bed until I hear the bathroom door close, and then I get up and tiptoe down the hallway. I'm in front of his bedroom. I don't hesitate to walk in, because I don't have time to waste on shaking hands and my too-heavy heart.

Once inside, I close the door and press my back against its cool wood. I shut my eyes and inhale.

I've missed this. I've missed this room. But even here I can feel his lack of presence.

After a moment, I open up, but unlike the last time he ruined his things, Esme and Carlisle haven't cleaned up for him. They've patched nothing. There are holes in the walls where Edward's fists went though over and over. His dresser is knocked over. His TV is broken. The computer chair is upside down, and there's broken glass on the carpet. It's like reliving that night again … like it's stuck in time.

I don't dare go near the bed. I take one more look around and leave.

.

.

.

There's nowhere to park. The street Jake Black lives on is bumper to bumper parked and stuffed. And there's no missing which house is his. Small, red, lit up and loud, his home is overflowing with bodies. There are people all over his lawn, and in the street. They move out of the way so I can slowly roll by.

I look for the Lincoln, but it's not here.

Ben's Benz is, though. So is Victoria's piece of shit Sentra.

"Just park on the fucking sidewalk." Alice laughs.

I find a spot at the very end of the block. My girl helps me put the top up, and after we're done locking it in place, she slips back into the passenger seat and digs through her bag.

Alice pulls out an orange prescription bottle and shakes a few green and white jagged little pills into the palm of her hand.

"They're my mom's. She's depressed, or whatever," she says, dry swallowing. "I just need to chill for a while, you know."

I lock the door and meet Alice on the sidewalk. She has a bottle of her dad's rum in one hand and holds the other out for me to take. My heels tap, tap, tap on the concrete. It's uneven in places, but I'm good in these shoes. The humidity in the air from the sea being so close dampens my skin and flattens the little bit of curl in my hair, but it feels nice.

I'm nervous.

Two houses down from Jake's, Alice stops and screws off the top to the bottle, tossing it over her shoulder. She takes a larger-than-her swig and passes it to me. I sip.

She asks me to lead the way into the house, so I walk ahead. I recognize a few people on the lawn, and smile, but I don't stop to talk. Wiz Khalifa's heavy beats and low-slick lyrics fill the dampened air. Inside the walls that belong to Jake's parents, it smells like spilled beer and bud. I can feel the bass from the stereo through my heels and up to my knees. Bodies are too close and compacted, and I have to push my way through, pulling Alice along.

"Do you see anyone?" she yells over the music.

I look back and her eyes are already darkened and hooded, high-slanted and beyond. She's smiling like an idiot and looks more like her brother than ever before. She passes me the bottle. I take another mouthful.

I stop in the middle of what must be Jake's living room to scope around. This is the youth of the nation: torrid, displaced, slutty and drunk. It's the same people doing the same thing every weekend, promising themselves they won't grow up to be like their parents and swearing that one line won't change shit. This person fucks that person, only to sleep with their best friend next weekend. Disease spreads, physically and mentally. Their laughs are corroded and their skin is melting.

It's boys in men's bodies and girls doing grown-up things. We're all clueless and seeking, taking a chance on that bitch called fate.

It's unrefined and repugnant, and I hate seeing it. I hate knowing that Edward is the epitome of this lifestyle. He is the motherfucking king of right here and now. He is the reason why my parents are the way they are. He is the reason why we lock our doors at night and run away from dark back streets.

Right now it's fun. Right now ... _fuck it we're young_, but when things get serious, when it's time to grow up, then what?

Edward won't be the king of shit, and Victoria will be the girl who got fucked through high school. Mixie will always wonder about the baby she didn't have, and Dimitri will have to live with the guilt of introducing all of these kids to the big, bad scary world.

I press the palm of my hand to my forehead.

_Where the hell are you, Dusty?_

I'm a different kind of monster than these people. I'm crafty. I'm sneaky. I don't fuck around, but _I fuck around. _These people rot from the outside in; I'm the opposite. My insides are made of tar and oil, blended with a little love for my boy. My heart lacks compassion for everyone but him. I'm selfish. I'm a master manipulator. I'm the enabler, and when we get older and these lost people need to be found, they'll probably come to a person like me for answers. I'll be their therapist or their doctor … I'll be their judge, when all along I was the girl who sat back and let it all happen.

"There's Jake!" Alice yells over the music.

Ripping away from my thoughts, I head in his direction. Someone spills beer on my shoe, another almost burns me with their cigarette. Every foot of this house is occupied by a body, making it nearly impossible to get to the kitchen untouched.

It's easier to breathe when I'm where I need to be. The sliding glass door is open, making way for the ocean air. It feels good on warmed skin, and shoos away the scent of sweat and disillusion.

I take another drink from Alice's bottle of sorrow.

Through the open glass, I can see that there are as many people in the back yard as there are in the front. I thought I recognized a few faces, but they're all blending together now. Everyone looks the same. Acts the same. Sounds the same.

"Who are all of these people?" I bend down and ask in Alice's triple pierced ear.

She shrugs before taking another swig. She cringes and speaks, "Must be kids from Quileute Tribal. Maybe PA High, too."

Jake Black spots us from the other side of the kitchen. He calls my name and waves us over. Thankfully, but unfortunately, Kim and Mixie run into us first.

"What the fuck are you guys doing here?" Kim looks different. Her hair is longer and less silk-like. She's lost weight; her clothes hang unfirmly. Kim's eyes are dose-open and beamy. I haven't seen her all summer, and like everyone else, this season aged her.

"Ugh. Bitch," Alice rolls her eyes and takes another drink from her bottle.

Kim fakes a smile and asks, "Really, though, why are you here?"

"We were invited," I say. Someone bumps me from behind.

"Have you seen my brother or not, Kim?" Alice is trippin and slippin on her feet without the help of anyone else.

"Not." Kim looks bored.

Mixie pulls apart her split ends. She looks the same as she always has: washed up and bittersweet.

"You should ask Lolita, though," Kimberly adds.

Mixie rolls her eyes and drops the ends of her hair. She's in a short black and white striped dress. "Let's find Dim," she says.

"Who the fuck is Lolita?" Alice asks. She steps in front of me, like she subconsciously knows I'm going to need to be guarded from this conversation.

Because I already know. I've always fucking known. I always will.

Kim laughs spitefully. Her eyes are wild, long gone. Her fingernails are bitten down and sore looking. "Just want to ask her where he is."

I close my eyes and breathe. I know how to do it now. I can do it by heart: in and out … in and out.

"Where's Petey? I'll ask him." Alice grabs my hand and moves us past Kim.

Kim grabs her bad elbow. Alice hisses.

Kim lets go. She steps up on her tippy toes and looks around the small house with a silly smirk on her face. "Lo goes to PA, but we know her, you know. She's around." Her head turns and her eyes search. "Over there," she points. "Her boyfriend is the black guy with the red shirt."

She's not hard to find. Her presence screams, LOLITA—innocence hiding rot, temptation pout-playing—fate.

It's almost so typical and expected I want to cry.

In a blue and white striped bandeau and navy high-rise matelot dark denim shorts, she has red heart shaped sunglasses over her eyes and a red Blow-Pop in her mouth. Her hair is thin and long and dark. Her skin is white and unblemished. She smiles at nothing, but she doesn't look upset or fussed. She just is. She's just here, going through the hoops. Looking for the same thing everyone else is.

Her boyfriend's skin is dark to her light, and the contrast is beautiful. He kisses the side of her neck and holds her by her hips. Lolita kind of, sort of smiles, but it's gone before it registers. She sits back in his lap and curves her neck for him, but that's it. She's emotionless.

"Are you Lolita?" Alice asks, entering this girl's circle.

Lo doesn't move her head, and even though her eyes are blocked, I know she's looking at my girl.

"Yeah," she says. Her voice is low and even, and so fucking perfect.

"My brother is Edward Cullen. Have you seen him?" Alice blinks too many times.

This is stupid, and I want to walk away. I don't want to hear this tale. I already know how it started, and I know how it ends.

Lolita pushes her glasses to the top of her head; her face is a blur. It's so static and unaffected that it's hard to look at her. She's beautiful, but kept away, like looking through a veil. She is tenderness and shame.

_She's just like him. _

"I haven't seen that dirty boy since October. It was nothing. Who are you?" she asks, dimpled brightness played.

Someone bumps into me again.

"I'm his sister. I told you, he's my brother." Alice moves a little closer. I grab her arm.

Lolita kind of, sort of smiles again. Her glasses drop back over her so-like-theirs eyes. "Can't help you."

"But you saw him?"

"Not since then," she says.

"You fucked him, but you haven't seen him since?" Alice yells. She drops the bottle of rum and tries to shake me off.

My best girl's outburst grabs the attention of everyone within five feet of us. They're all looking, waiting, and I've already been in one fight today. Besides, I don't think my body will even work on command right now.

I'm unconnected and floating.

_Of course. Of course he was with her … of course. _

The girl, who took advantage of my disadvantage and didn't care to see him after, points her sucker at Alice and says, "Get the fuck away from me. "

Alice, pill happy and alcohol soaked, pulls down on my wrist until I let go. She turns away from me to go after the creature of infinite melancholy.

But she bumps right into Petey.

He secures her to him by gripping her shoulders, holding her at arms length. "Hey, pretty in pink, getting into some trouble, or what?" He reaches up and rubs his thumb under her punched-plump bottom lip. "Let me see."

The relief I feel by hearing Pete's voice is too much, but not enough. I want to scream, _this is not fucking fair!_ Why does she get him while I'm still left here, seeing Lolita … seeing this, all of it. Why me?

_Why is he putting me through this?_

I've done everything I'm supposed to. I've kept every secret, told every lie … I do everything for Edward, and this is where I am: alone and resentful, in a room full of monsters just like him, but not as bad as me.

I'm literally shaking when Alice smiles and shows Petey her tooth. I can't do it anymore … I can't pretend anymore.

I'm full to the rim and decaying.

Tears pour down, unconfined. They just fall. I don't make a noise or move, I just let them slide out of my eyes and down my warm cheeks.

Lolita laughs, and I want to smash her face in with a beer bottle. I want to ask her if she felt it while Edward fucked her, because I feel it every single time he fucks me.

In my chest.

In my lying soul.

In my eyes and my arms and my knee caps. I feel it in every single fiber of my being.

I wish I was cold like her.

I wipe cries away and look around, searching for nothing. What I need isn't here. What I need is doing his own thing without me. What I need didn't care enough to take me with him.

He wants me to stop loving him. Fine.

Done.

I'm done.

Ben's suddenly touching me. I pull my arm away from him. He looks concerned, and I detest him for it.

"What?" I ask, trying to sound indifferent. "Where did you even come from? Where have you been?"

Petey's still looking at Alice's tooth. _She broke it fighting for Jasper,_ I want to say. I want them all to be as pathetic as me. _Hate her because she doesn't love you wholly, Pete, _I want to scream until my lungs bust. _She's like him, so fucking beware. _

The truth is not easy to ingest. My truth: I love a lost cause. I love a failure, and I lost myself in him when I was nine years old.

How am I supposed to recover? Why is he making me?

I can't breathe. I'm hot. Too hot. There are too many fucking people in this shitty little red house.

_Run. _

Ben puts his arm over my shoulders. "You girls shouldn't be here," he says. He hands me his beer, probably just to get me to do something other than stand and stare.

I take a drink. I drink the whole bottle.

"Where's Edward, Ben?" I ask. I hold a hand over my chest.

_Should I ask Ben to feel it too? Is it beating too fast? _

_Am I dying? _

_This feels like dying. _

Now Petey's in front of me. He's pulling me through the crowd with no problem at all. Everyone moves out of his way. Alice and Ben are behind us … I just know.

"Hold this to your face." Pete hand me his red plastic cup. The side drips condensation over my trembling digits.

I do as he says, but it doesn't make me feel any better. "Pete," I groan.

_I can't fucking breathe!_

Someone whistles from the kitchen. "Hey, Peter, come here!"

Pete drapes his arm over my shoulders. "Keep walking, little girl. Lets find somewhere to hide for a while," he says. We're in a hallway. He's checking bedroom doors, but they're all locked. He cusses, "Fuck."

Alice is drunk and giggling. Her and Ben are fucking around. He picks her up and spins; she swears she's going to puke if he doesn't stop. Pete turns on the hallway light. He asks me if we should kick in one of the doors. I laugh.

Ben's eyes are so fucking black.

"Hey, motherfucker, I was calling you," Dimitri says. He and Victoria step into the hallway, too.

I step behind Pete. He holds my hand in his warm, calloused one. His grip is too-binding and stuck.

Victoria kills Alice with her look. Ben says, "Babe," and I don't fucking get it, but I guess I do.

Alice stops laughing. She steps away from Ben and up to Dimitri. He towers over her, all skinny and heinous. He's a fucking slithering snake, and him, I hate. He circulates evil, and flourishes over others' bad choices. He's the root. He's the cause. He's the fucking germ.

_The snake, when he walks, holds his hands in his pockets._

"Where the fuck is my brother?" Alice asks. She's not afraid of him.

He laughs at her.

Pete tries to pull her by her shirt, but she pushes him away.

Victoria, expanded and twirled, rolls her too-black eyes and crosses her arms over her barely covered chest. She's not even pretending to like us anymore. Her expression says it all: she's too fucking gone to care about anything other than her next fix. We're in the way.

Ben cares about her, though. They're having their own conversation while Alice questions Dim. It's too much to keep up with. I don't even want to.

Dimitri laughs out loud. "What the fuck is this?" He points to Alice dismissively but he's speaking to Petey.

Pete stands taller. Ben and Vic stop fighting. He holds her hand. The hallway's too small, and I still want to run. Loud music makes it hard to hear and hard to concentrate. A few people try to enter the hall, looking for a bathroom, but Dimitri tells them to move the fuck on.

Petey coughs into his fist, and then he smiles, but it's not real. It's cautionary. "My little sister," he says; his chin is held high.

"Teach her some fucking manners, my man." He tries to move past my pill-brave friend, but she doesn't let him by.

"Move," he says. His eyes become more serious, but the most fucked up part is that they're normal. He might be drunk, but he isn't coke-slanted. He doesn't do what he sells—his eyes are brown and shallow. At least for now.

"Where is he?" Alice asks again.

I can't stop crying, so Dimitri probably thinks I'm afraid of him. I'm not. I'm overwhelmed and beat. The empty spot in my chest doesn't hurt anymore; it's not even there. I'm empty, and these tears are all I have left.

But even those are leaving me.

"What am I, his fucking baby sitter?" Dimitri's still trying to make light of the situation, but he's getting mad.

"No, you're his fucking drug dealer, motherfucker."

Alice spits in his face.

Time stops.

Dimitri doesn't react; he doesn't do anything but stand motionless with saliva on his face. Petey pushes Alice behind him with a shove; she hits the wall. Peter stands up for her—head to head, chest to chest, with Dim.

"She's drunk," Pete says with heavy breaths and fisted fists. He's prepared and willing.

Dimitri wipes his face off on his green shirt and smiles. He bites down causing his jaw muscles to flex. He breathes out of his nose and smirks at Petey. They're so close, and I know that any wrong or misunderstood movement from either one of them could turn this hallway into their battle cage.

Surprisingly, though, Dimitri is the first to stand down and back. "I don't know where the fuck your brother is, Alice."

And I can't breathe again, because I don't believe him. A liar knows a liar. And he knows where my guy is.

I don't wait around for an explanation or reenactments once Dimitri walks away; I turn and leave.

I dial Edward's number on the way out the door, but someone bumps into me and knocks the phone out of my hand. Some guy I don't know steps on it, and since the cell is face down, I can't tell if it called Edward or not.

The stepping boy, with the all white DCs, bends down and picks it up. He hands it to me and mumbles an apology, "Sorry."

I take it without a word and attempt to push my way through the sea of people standing at the door. I can't get outside, though. The porch is too crowded, and I think there's a fight.

I say excuse me, but no one pays attention. So I push harder, but everyone pushes back. I can't turn around because I'm surrounded. I'm about to scream when someone grips my wrist and pulls me out.

It's Jake Black.

"Are you leaving already?" he asks over the music. Jake doesn't seem to notice I've been crying. He keeps looking at my chest.

"Um," I answer, still too upset to really speak. I just shrug.

He smiles charmingly. "Want a beer?"

He offers me his cup, but I don't get the chance to accept. Petey pushes me away, though the door and out to the lawn. He hugs me, and I hug him back. I cling to him. He rubs my back, but doesn't say anything. I don't worry about appearances, because there are none … I am totally stripped of everything but the complete agony I feel.

Then my phone starts to ring. I know it's him.

"You going to answer that?" Petey asks, pulling away from me. He stays close, though.

I wipe my face with the back of my hand and slip my singing phone into my pocket. "No. It's probably just my mom or something."

Petey nods.

My cell becomes un-ignorable as the ringing continues—over and over. I feel uncomfortable, like Petey knows my parents wouldn't continuously call me this way.

"Past curfew?" he asks. Some guy walks by and Pete shakes his hand, but he doesn't give him more attention that that. "You need to get home?"

I plead with my eyes, _please don't make me tell you. _

"I can take Alice home. If you want." Petey reaches forward and wipes my eyes for me. "It's so fucking sad when little sisters cry, you know."

I let my face fall into his chest and cry again. Petey might know about me and Edward, or he might not know anything at all; he might understand all of this, or he might think I'm crazy, but either way, I need him. I needed someone to hold me up like I held Alice.

I don't feel any better as Pete walks me to my car, but I don't feel so … abandoned.

My phone starts ringing again. Not that it ever really stopped.

Petey and I share one more small hug, and then he walks away.

With my heart in my throat, I drop my car keys twice before finally getting the door unlocked. I shut myself in and sit in silence for a few seconds between Edward's call going to voice mail and the time it takes him to dial my number again.

I pull it out of my pocket and look at the screen.

_Accept or decline. _

My heart is running … so fast. I know what I need to do. I know what I need to say to him. I just have to do it.

I ignore his call. He calls back. I ignore it again.

This time he texts, a_nswer. _

Then again,_ answer the fucking phone. _

I toss my cell onto the passenger seat and tap my fingers on the car's horn. My phone lights up again.

This time I answer it. "What?" I take a couple of breaths. "What do you want, Edward?" I cry.

"You called me!" he raises his voice, but then says in a more calm voice, "Where the fuck are you, Bella?"

"Jacob's," I answer.

"Why?"

"I don't know." I cry again.

We're quiet, but I'm crying. I can't stop. He's listening, but he doesn't want to. He's sighing and groaning. He cusses a few times, but there are no real words.

"Stop," he says. When I can't, he says it again. "Stop fucking crying, Bliss."

"I can't!" I yell. "I can't."

With the phone on my ear, I drop my forehead on the steering wheel. _Stop_, I tell myself. _Stop and tell him what you need to say. _

"I can't be this person anymore, Edward," I say into the phone; teardrops drip onto my thighs. "I'm done."

He laughs.

My heart shatters.

"We're not good together. And you don't think enough about me." I cover my mouth with my hand and sob.

I can hear myself crying, but it doesn't exactly register that it's me who is making these noises. My lungs burn, my throat hurts, and I can feel my face swelling around my eyes. My skin is soaked in heartbreak, and my knuckles hurt from having my fist closed so tightly. I don't even know if my heart beats anymore.

"Shut up," he says.

"All I ever asked for was the whole truth," I whisper-cry. "But you never give it to me. I never know anything."

"Bella—"

"I can't anymore, Edward."

He sounds desperate. Panicked … hysterical. "You know me, baby. You know how it is."

"You don't even know yourself. How can I know you?"

Desperation turns into anger, and his anger I know so well. Something breaks in the background. I think he's crying, too. "Don't fucking do this," he yells. "I'll burn that whole motherfucking town down, Bella. I fucking swear. I—"

His attempt is hollow and falls on surrendered ears.

.

.

.

After I hung up on him and turned off my phone, I had no where else to go but home. The thought of my parents being there and questioning me about why I looked the way I did, or why I was coming home so late didn't even cross my mind. I didn't care. I wanted my bed. I wanted the safety my room gave me. I wanted to sleep and never wake up.

I got lucky. Mom and Dad didn't come home at all. They left a note on the table, which said they were going over to the Ateara's for a couple of drinks. And the message on the answering machine from my mom, only ten minutes before I got there, said they wouldn't be home until this morning because a couple had turned into too many.

"I tried your cell phone, and I don't know if you'll even get this, Bliss, because you're staying at Alice's, but I love you," my mom said, ending the message.

I went to bed, still dressed in my clothes. I could hardly get my shoes off, but I got under the blankets and closed my sore eyes.

And now it's five in the morning, and I haven't slept at all.

At least I stopped crying.

Every thought I have is of that boy. Every memory I have worth remembering can be tied to him somehow. He was always in my back pocket … or I had always just left him. Anything I did revolved around Edward and our relationship. I spent time with Alice to be with him. I went to school to be near Edward. I stayed on the phone all night to talk to him. I told my dad I accidentally broke the lock on the back door, but it was actually my boy. He lit my sparklers, he played hide and go seek, he gave me my first sip of alcohol. Edward showed me why three joints are better than one. He was the first boy I ever slept next to.

He was my first kiss. My first love.

Memory after memory plays like an old film behind my closed eyelids—broken, scratched, not completely clear. One after another. Good and bad.

I can't deal. I can't.

I jump out of bed and open my closet. I dig through all of the clothes on the floor, until I find it.

The first present he ever really gave me. My favorite thing, ever.

With half-shut eyes and tired tendons, I take the sweater downstairs. It smells like him … even after all of this time, smoky-vanilla, uncheckable-trouble lingers on the washed-worn cotton. It twist turns my stomach and only causes me to miss him more.

I open the washing machine and throw it in. I twist off the top of the detergent and pour half of the bottle on the navy-blue baseball hoodie. I turn the water on. I set it on heavy.

But I can still smell him.

The washer fills up with hot water and I keep waiting for the smell of cigarettes and gum and disorder and crazy love to go away, but it's not. It's pore-deep in my skin and thread-tied in the sweater.

I open the bleach and pour that in, too.

I empty the whole bottle into the water.

The fumes choke me, but that doesn't stop me from looking into the tub just to make sure midnight-blue is turning patchy white. I cough, and my eyes painfully start to run. I reach into the washer drum and submerge the sweater completely. Hot water and bleach stab at my broken cuticles. Tears drip off of my nose, into soapy liquid. When it's full, it begins to spin.

And I fucking hate myself for ruining the best gift he ever gave me.

With wet burning hands, I turn off the washing machine and pull out my sweater. I fall on my bottom with my back against cold white metal. I hold Edward's sweater against my chest, bleach spotting my black romper, and cry … because I can't smell him anymore.

.

.

.

A day has gone by since the party. My parents are home discussing plans about the basement. They want to make it into a gym. Dad's getting older, my mom says. He needs to start working out, she adds. Dad grumbles and says, whatever.

I haven't turned my phone back on. It's still on the floor in my car. I told Alice I lost it at the party. She believes me. I'll tell my dad, she said. We need upgrades for this year anyway, she explained.

I act like everything is right. It's not hard. Lying is simply a craft, and I'm an expert.

I'm perfect.

I sit between the people who made me and solidify into exactly what they want me to be: everything I'm not.

Something I don't even know.

.

.

.

Two days later my fingers still smell like bleach and my heart remains motionless. I'm attempting, though. I woke up early this morning and got on the internet. I searched colleges all over the country. I requested a few applications. I'm trying to make plans of my own.

I took a shower and scrubbed my skin until it hurt. I put on a dress I've never worn. I straightened my hair, but lost motivation after that.

"Do you need my help?" I ask, putting the orange juice back into the refrigerator.

Mom ties her hair into a ponytail before pouring herself a cup of coffee. She's dressed in one of dad's old flannels and has excitement in her eyes. She's crazy about the gym. She'll use it too. She told me so last night while we stayed up and watched TV.

"You're all dressed, it's okay." She passes behind me to get the creamer out. "Where did you get that dress anyway?"

She slips her finger under the halter. I step away from her before she spills black java on my white dress.

"I bought it a while ago." Lie. Esme got it for me.

"It's pretty. Do you have plans?" She takes a hesitant sip from her mug.

I shake my head. "I don't know yet."

Mom smiles. "Okay, then. If you need me, your dad and I will be down below all day." She waves over her shoulder on her way out of the kitchen.

They have to tear down old drywall and rip up ugly carpet.

I take my orange juice up to my room and lay stomach down on my bed. I wiggle my toes in the air and take the 'How Do You Know He's The One' test in Seventeen Magazine.

I push the issue off of the bed and call Alice from the house phone. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Drinking milk from straw glasses. It's awesome. I got you a pair." She slurps.

"I'm bored." I sigh.

"Ugh. Me, too. Come over and drink out of these with me."

"Maybe later," I say. The idea of making any kind of effort to be "normal" sounds exhausting. I just wanted to hear her voice.

"Oh," she raises her tone. "I talked to Jasper. He wants to hang out. Like, to talk."

I get up and sit back against my pillows. "And?"

"And I'll probably go. I love him." She slurps some more. "I have another call. I'll hit you back."

"Love you."

She laughs. "I love you like your dad's mustache."

"Shut up."

"Bye." She hangs up.

With nothing else to do, I decide to be with parents in the basement. I can hand them tools or sit on the floor and read a book. I'll just be near them, not alone.

I toss the phone and get out of bed to change out of my dress. I'm pulling out a pair of cut off denim shorts from my dresser when I hear a familiar engine's rumble.

My heartbeat flies. My cheeks redden. My skin rises. My shoulders straighten.

I know.

I drop the shorts to the carpet and quick-step to the window.

I unlock and pull up, and stick my head out.

And he's here, standing in front of the Lincoln, ready to burn everything down … just like I knew he would.


	30. Play Crack the Sky

**We do not own Twilight. Love's blood sings out loud.**

**All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer, Brand New, and Bishop. And if you don't know this song, do yourself a favor and give it a listen. js.**

**Mack mack mack, i love you like endings are so important.**

**Babyblue, i love you like fuck oprah.**

**To everyone that has supported Dusty, especially in the last twenty four hours, thank you. **

**Brand New - Play Crack the Sky: **_This story's old, but it goes on and on until we disappear. Calm me, and let me taste the salt you breathed while you were underneath. I am the one who haunts your dreams of mountains sunk below the sea. I spoke the words, but never gave a thought to what they all could mean. I know that this is what you want. A funeral keeps both of us apart. You know that you are not alone; I need you like water in my lungs._

_This is the end._

**Chapter Twenty Eight and a Half – Edward**

"_I can't sleep."_

Her shy voice from the first night she came to my room slips through my memory, and I see her all over again: bare arms and fidgeting hands, and pulled up pretty red-blonde. She was thirteen, I was fifteen, and I knew it's crazy, but I was in love with that girl.

I'd heard her running the water in the bathroom and taking soft steps in the hallway. I remember telling myself I couldn't be sure it was Bliss, but I heard my pulse in my ears. The pressure of the sound filled my chest. My body knew it was her, and as soon as I realized it, she knocked on my door.

_Three times. Light little taps. Like she used just the tips of her little-girl fingers._

Here, in the wet sand, at the furthest end of Dash Point, that knock, the sound of everything never being the same, is clear as ever in my mind. I blink my eyes open, but gray-white dawn hurts, so I close them. Ocean-salted wind stings my face and arms.

_"Where's Alice?"_ I asked. Isabella Bliss looked apprehensive. My heart pumped blood with conviction. I sat up in my bed. _"Do you want me to get my mom for you?"_

_She blushed. She was so embarrassed, and I was so not ready._

More than a hundred miles from my room now, I pull my knees to my chest and bury my face. The dark behind my eyelids deepens while I try to hide from the same choice I've avoided every day for more than a month.

_"No."_ She shook her head, pressing her lips together, looking around before sitting down on the left edge of my bed. _"No, Alice is okay. I'm okay; I just can't sleep."_

Baby's unsure voice resonates through all of me. It pulse-echoes under my palm skin and behind my eyelids. I feel it swim through my veins.

"_Can I just... Can I watch television with you?"_

The binds between us pull like gravity. My eyelids burn. My stomach feels wrapped around wires. I can't remember the last time I slept. Or ate. Or didn't ache. I was miles further from home last October, when I took off after her birthday, but I wasn't half as gone as I feel now.

Taking my pack from my pocket, I pull out my last and lonely, upside-down-flipped cigarette. I set it on my lips, leaving it unlit and stare out at the too-light wind blows hard, and I bring my hands to my face. I rub my eyes with their heels and think of love's warm-soft curve shape between my sheets, and I want to go home.

Alone together in my room, I changed the channel on the television and leaned back. Bella seemed content, and my pulse slowly started to steady as she relaxed. I tried to play it cool, but my head wouldn't slow down. While Bliss slept, I could not.

I open my eyes to the present. Water and sky are all I can see. I stare where gray meets gray and remember trying to get a grip on how overwhelming everything felt having her so near. I'd never even hugged her before. Our contact was limited to milk-stealing, high-fives, chasing her to make her smell my shirt under some smokey street lamps, and the occasional tug on her strawberry blonde ends when the pull that came with being around her was too much.

We'd never been so close. She fell asleep right next to me.

I was up almost all night.

I remember not wanting to close my eyes. I hadn't meant to, but her sleep had that effect. Her breathing calmed me so completely I couldn't help it.

When she shifted, stretching and reshaping herself under my blankets, I woke again, renewed at the perfectly-at-ease sight of her.

She didn't twist or turn, but she nestled, and had pulled the covers up so that all I could see were her eyelashes. Snowy, glowing blue dawn was seeping into the dark that had held us for hours, and I knew I had to wake her. I had to send her back to my little sister's room, because as right as everything assured me this closeness was, it wasn't allowed. Everyone would have flipped, for all kinds of reasons. Meaning and significance and belonging didn't matter.

"_Bliss..."_

My chest tightens. My blood hurts.

I'm torn, like skin from skin.

She stretched, and I could see her breathing change, but she didn't blink. She was so peaceful, and I really didn't want to wake her. I hated that I had to.

Over blankets I was still on top of, I reached over and touched her shoulder. _"Hey,"_ I tried again.

She pulled the covers higher for a second, then pushed them down a little as she opened and closed, and slowly opened her eyes. Her hair was a soft mess of gold-red on my gray pillows, and her green-blues were dreamy, sleepy-innocent. People talk about things so beautiful they hurt to look at, but I'd never experienced it firsthand.

Bliss looked up at me and I remember wanting to kiss her. Not for anything, not with intent. Just to feel what I already knew. Just to tell her good morning that way, because no words felt good enough.

The wires in my stomach twist up into my throat.

I cough. I lose my cigarette to sea spray and muddy sand. My hands close into fists against the back of my neck. Every inhale I try to take, cuts.

Love at first sight may not apply when you're nine and eleven, but I feel like I've always known she was my purpose in the truest sense of the word. My be-all, end-all. From the very first moment, all clear sandals and soft curls, all shy smiles in the hallway on her first day, and I sounded like such an idiot when I tried to talk to her, because somewhere inside I knew then. I knew she was incomparable.

The more she was around, the better I knew it. Just being near her was exciting and ingraining, and dangerous, because I could feel the irreplaceability.

I knew that night, when I sat up straighter in my bed without a single clue of what to say or how to be, that what's between us was way out of our control. I knew before she climbed in, that she was the reason I was born and breathed and grew. I knew that whatever connected us was powerful and permanent, and impossible to contend with. Bliss is one of a kind, and made to be mine, and I feel like I've known it forever.

All of my bones hurt. Every one of my atoms yearns for home.

I justify my abandoning and using with her choosing Garrett and everyone else over me, but that's not real. Love doesn't choose any more than she has to, and even if she did, it would be my fault. As twisted as everything's become, even with all we've both done, baby is still innocent in this. Her words and actions injure, but they're reactions. I can't blame her for acting out of hurt that I caused. Bliss knows I'm not worthy, but she keeps letting me hurt her anyway.

She's the one this is truly damaging.

And she just keeps letting me.

And it makes me so mad.

It's making me mad.

She can't, but if Bella ever could break herself away from me and have another love, and he treated her like I do, I would kill him. No foreplay. No questions asked. I'd rip his spine out, because in actuality, I'm the liar. Love doesn't deserve even half of what I drag her through.

Burying my face again, I choke on a breath that shreds, and I lose it. The stay-gone-or-go-back decision I've avoided making for weeks now is outweighed a hundred times by truth I've known so long and ignored.

I knew it when I was all alone on her mother's porch, after Bliss blew out sixteen candles almost a year ago. I've known it since we sat on my mom's swing and laid out our first rules, when my heart didn't want me to leave, but I did anyway, because I knew then, _I knew -_

_I should just stay away._

Truth I've carried like iron in my bones for the bulk of my life breaks over my frame. It breaks within me, and will no longer be ignored.

_I should just stay the fuck away._

I scream into my knees and clench my empty fists. I shake and scream louder. I tear at my shirt and my hair. I take her name in vain and curse God, and cry out until I'm on my side in the sand, sobbing because love's unattainability is unbearable.

Everywhere hurts.

Everything is shooting, piercing, burning pain, because I know that going back means destroying us both.

_Maybe not at first. _

_Maybe not right away, but together, love is going to take both our lives._

My vision goes gray around the edges. Like the sky. Like the sea. Like everything.

Knowing what saving her requires, tortures me. I choke on my crying.

_I can't._

_I cannot._

_I'll die._

_How can I live without my life?_

I close my eyes. I try to just breathe, but it's like there's no air here. Knowing I should stay away makes breathing miserable.

Shining soft in blue-white morning light, young love blinked, and I could see her bringing me into focus. There was a sleep-wrinkle pressed into her cheek from how she'd bunched my pillow and laid her head. I remember wanting to brush my thumb along it, maybe to touch her, maybe just to connect to the existence that my own felt so caught in.

_"You need to get back down to Ally's room before she wakes up,"_ I said instead, closing my hands, tucking confusing curiosity, natural attraction and so much yearning down, down, down.

The wind whips hard, changing directions violently and without warning, again and again. The quick carelessness of it is sharp on my tear tracks. My cheeks feel just as cut open and salted as my chest.

On her way out of my room, hands in her hair, Bliss smiled shyly over her shoulder. Her sleepy eyes were barely open, but full up with sincerity that had no call for defense or pretenses there. She was just natural.

_"Thanks,"_ she said.

I didn't know for what, but the second my door was closed, I started falling.

Onto my back and into the comfort of slept-in blankets. Into the subtly lingering warmth of meaning, and the scent of her like fresh summertime in the dead of unforgiving winter. I fell soul-first right into love so vast, so unending, I knew I'd never be able to climb out.

I can't.

It's July sixteenth. I'm nineteen now. I don't remember my birthday, but I remember her "_I can't be this person anymore,_" "_I'm done,_" and "_You don't think enough about me_." I remember, "_You don't even know yourself. How can I know you?_"

_Work,_ I beg my lungs between cries and stomach-turning shakes. _Fucking work_.

They don't want to.

They want love.

No matter how far I push myself from her, I can't get away. I can't help myself.

I've reached for Bliss over and over hoping for a life saver, a thousand times over, because I can't help myself. And even now, even though I know all we're going to do is pull each other under, I still can't help it.

I cry, but my blood courses. My lungs fight to find a way to work. My joints and ligaments all stretch and strain and suffer, but are determined to move me.

My heart may be a life-taker, but she's necessary to my pulse. I am helpless for her. I'm dependent whether I fight or not. I need us too much to save us. I need her, and if she needs air more, she's going to have to save herself.


	31. Where Have You Been

**We do not own Twilight. No way would I have let Summit leave the blood sample/faint/carry scene out of the movie. **

**All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer anyways, Manchester Orchestra, The Unicorns, Taking Back Sunday, Judy Freudberg and Tony Geiss, Bon Iver, Kurt Cobain, Radiohead, Blessed Union of Souls and Matchbook Romance.**

**Kkbaby, i'm in love with my word-lover. i love you like breathing. thank you so much for everything you do for me, us, and this. i love you deeper than bones.**

**Bishop, you put up with and helped with so much lately. Thank you for your insight and your heart.**

**Readers, right here, loves. Skimmers, to the left.**

**Manchester Orchestra – Where Have You Been: **_I've been catching all your ghosts for every season. I pray to God you won't come back here anymore. Do you pray with him too?_

_I've got to take what I'm making and turn it into something. I've got to turn it into something for you. I've got to break what I'm making and turn it into nothing. I've got to break what I'm making into nothing for you._

_God, where have you been?_

_God, oh my God, where have you been?_

_Where have you been?_

_Where have you been?_

_Where have you been?_

**Chapter Twenty Nine – baby girl**

"When did you get back?" I run my fingers through my mother's willow tree, keeping my voice low and my head down as I walk through its branches.

"Just now," he says, following me. "I came here first. I haven't been by my house."

I smile to myself, sickly satisfied with his confession. I take a chance and look, glimpsing over my bare shoulder. Edward walks behind me, following my lead. His eyes are tired and his skin is unwell. Edward's hair is dirty, but his black jeans and gray tee-shirt are new.

It's a perk of a sinner who has money: he looks disgustingly beautiful.

Little sparrows sing to each other above us. A Fed-Ex truck drives past. Long, velvet green leaves tickle my arms, sending chills up and down my skin. Edward sighs and groans behind me, unimpressed with my built walls.

"Bella, I said I was sorry."

_I said I was sorry―_ _How many times can I hear him say it?_

"I mean, it's not like you're my fucking girlfriend."

I turn around and Edward is closer than I anticipated. His sunglasses are pushed up onto his head, and his eyes are hopelessly black. He's so close, almost touching me, looking down with a regretful posture. He has a cigarette set on his ear, and I know there are more disgraceful addictions in his pockets. He runs a hand through his disarray of brown and bronze, sticking the other in his front pocket.

"You're right. I'm your victim," I spit. "Just when I begin to think that I'm going to be okay, you want me one more time."

"I'll always want you, baby," he whispers, coming to me, brushing his nose along my jaw.

His sudden proximity is overwhelming after more than forty days away. I don't have even a second to adjust to it before he takes my hand and presses my palm against the pulse point in his neck.

"Do you feel that? Do you feel how fast it beats?"

_I do. _

"You make my fucking heart flutter, princess."

_I feel it._

He was further gone than he's ever been, and his eyes are imperceptible black, but love's pulse is as sure and quick under my touch as it's _always_ been.

_This_, I recognize.

_This_, I know and understand.

Edward removes my hand from his neck. He kisses my knuckles and flashes his crooked smirk. It turns my butterflies to pins.

"You're high," I whisper.

"I am."

He smiles.

I move away from him, extending my hand to tickle the willow. "Were you with her?"

"With who, Bliss?" he asks guardedly.

I laugh out loud. And not because this is funny, but because this is pathetic.

"Don't call me that," I say spitefully.

I pass through the soft tree branches, sensing him follow. I feel him studying my every move and detail, trying to find his way in. It's surreal just to be able to smell him again: dank green grass and Double Mint. I tried so hard to erase this scent, but I used to love it on my own clothes, in my hair, all over my skin. I used to savor it.

_But that was before._

I close my eyes, imagining for a moment that my heart isn't broken, and that he loves me just as much as I love him. I try to convince myself behind shut eyes that Edward doesn't choose drugs over me, continuously. I play myself a fool by believing one day, it will only be him and me.

"Do I have to give names? Is there ever just one _who?_" I cry, brushing tears away as soon as they fall.

His silence slaughters.

"All this wanting is regret," I whisper, mostly to myself. Edward wraps his arms around me and it's hard to breathe … it's hard to speak. "All of this indecision," I say, "it's cutting what little we have left."

"What exactly do you want to hear?" he murmurs back. "Who exactly do you want me to be?"

His whispers of _forever_ and _outcome_ brush along my ear. His lips glide across my cheek. He's here. He's right here with me, but he's not.

"When you turn eighteen, everything will be different, Bella."

I nod. Excuses.

_Like he never even left._

_But he did._

_He left me._

_Is that what love is? Always leaving?_

"You look so fucking pretty in this dress. Let me take it off and love you," he begs, declares, and promises. Love is laced thickly through his tone. Electricity flows through his touch. "Let me be with you."

_But for how long?_

His han d, my hand, fit so easy. I know he loves me. I never doubt his love. I doubt his intentions and respect. I distrust his motives and allegiance.

_Love_?

I smother in imperceptible, dictating love.

_He's _ _loves traitor._

"My parents are home," I say, turning around to face him.

Edward leans down and kisses my lips lightly, running his hand up the back of my white dress. He pulls the hair at the nape of my neck. "What did you do while I was gone ?" he asks, his voice calm even as tension rolls through him.

I laugh sorrowfully in his arms. I think about Lolita's nothing-stare and I want to push him. "You mean, who was I with when you took off for over a month?"

Edward groans in my ear, pulling my hair a little harder. It hurts, but I missed him so much. I missed this hold so fucking much. He tightens his fingers into a fist and presses his nose to my jaw. "I swear to God." He breathes. "I'll fucking kill."

I whimper in result of the thrilling pain. I grip onto his arms and dig my nails into his skin. My walls are gone. Every night he was gone stacked the bricks higher, and just like that, I'm crumbling.

"No one," I say, moving my hand underneath his chin. I hold Edward by his face, forcing him to look at me, and as I do, I'm forced to look up into eyes. They're lost in black. They turn my goose bumps into alligator skin.

This isn't the boy I grew up loving, this is a man who brings me along for his ride.

"Because I love you," I say tightly, refusing to allow any fear into my voice. "Because I love you, nobody else will ever touch me. Even though you are constantly touched."

He closes his eyes, shaking his head with a small smirk. We're still pressed so near; I can feel his words on my lips. "I haven't been with anyone."

My heart cracks and I hate him for this.

His eyes open and I miss his blue.

Edward's grip on my hair loosens, but he gathers me completely to himself. His presence all-encompasses. He holds me to him until everything I've heard and felt, wondered and worried, decided and maybe started to become in his absence, dissipates. He holds me until there is nothing between us but my dress and his shirt.

Love may be fucked up, but love is all there is.

Edward flattens his right hand against the small of my back, pressing and keeping me close. He drags his nose slowly up the side of mine and kisses my top lip.

"Come with me," he whispers. I breathe in his words, and when I exhale my reply, it's easy.

Okay," I whisper, nodding.

And it doesn't feel a thing like falling.

.

.

.

We've been in the Lincoln for almost ten minutes. Neither of us speak. I stare out the windshield. Edward just drives. He doesn't make a sound, save for when he sniffs.

I want to fucking scream.

I want to reach over and shake him. I want to kick and hit, and make him hurt. I want to wild -out and grab the wheel, swerve the car off the road, and shout at the tops of my lungs that this isn't okay. I don't deserve this. I want to demand answers.

But I don't give in. I sit still and suffer instead, in distance that's too close and silence that's only broken by coke-cold sniffles.

It's maddening.

At least Edward has an excuse for his insanity. He's beyond spun. I'm running on nothing but adrenaline that's doubling every emotion.

He turns left, toward the freeway.

I keep my breathing steady and my lips pressed into a line. I stare at the trees and rest my hands motionless in my lap, even though I'm doing everything I can to keep my heart from flying off the handle.

Right before I got into the car with this boy, I was in the most familiar and comfortable, most unconditionally protected place. Safety-assuring love surrounded me inside my parents' house. I had to swallow and breathe deep as I walked through the kitchen. I had to gather up more self-control than ever as I crept around the corner of the basement steps.

The door was open. The ripping-up to rebuild had just started.

"Hey," I called down, locking my feet in place. Mom was tugging carpet up and Dad was on a step ladder, messing with the light fixture.

Everything in me said to go hug them, really tight, just in case, but I couldn't. It had to look normal. It had to look careless, easy.

"Heading out?" Dad asked, looking up the stairs at me. He wiped his forehead on the back of his hand.

I nodded. Mom looked up, too. She'd tied his shirt into a knot above her hip, and there was a small smudge of dust on her left cheek.

She smiled. I smiled back.

Not a lie.

"You're going to see Alice?" Mom asked. Her blue eyes were genuine, her smile generous, and her heart so trusting it hurt to see her.

"Yeah." Lie. Like nothing even changed. "I'll be back tomorrow."

Mom nodded. Lie believed. Permission granted.

I tapped my fingers against the door frame and tried to brace myself. I couldn't leave without telling them. I love them like I can never love anybody else. They loved me first, and always. They will always love me.

I love you," I said, and I could feel it. The truth hurt like tearing.

Mom smiled higher, showing the tiny little wrinkles around her shining eyes. For a second, I wanted to buckle. I wanted to close my eyes and let out the sob that's killing me inside, and beg her to help me. To save him. To make us better.

But I didn't.

She couldn't.

And he was waiting.

Dad waved and went back to working. Mom pushed summer-light fly-aways from her forehead and relaxed her smile. "Love you too, Bliss."

Guilt flooded my veins, but I nodded again and waved, and had to turn around before I lost everything. I breathed slow and deep through the tearing in my heart, and grabbed my clutch from the table, making sure I had my phone and my ID before I walked out the front door.

It was so different outside, not just the change from cool air conditioning to a cloudy-warm breeze, but vast. Outside felt like limitless, absolute unknown.

And there was long-gone love, relaxed behind the wheel of the Lincoln, right arm stretched across the bench seat, waiting for me.

My breathing was still shaky, but it came easier as I started to walk. Every step from the moment I closed the door was just me and him.

It was equal parts assuring and nerve-splitting.

Edward smirked when he saw me, and leaned across the seat to let me in. Careful in my dress, I slid into the car smoothly and closed the door.

"Where are we going?" I asked without looking over.

"Seattle," was all he said.

And that's been it.

I got in this car without any real idea where we're going. Or for how long. Sure, I know now we're going to Seattle, but I may have just seen my parents for the last time. There's an unignorable part of me that's scared we might never, ever go back.

_I maybe really just left, for real. _

And my reason, my nature, the point of all this, is silent. He won't even _look_ at me.

Edward merges onto US 101.

Regrets impend. Homesickness yearns. Fear pecks like an eager, impatient vulture at my backbone.

I refuse to give in.

I don't speak or look over either. I roll my window down, but I don't fuss with my hair or fidget with the edge of my dress. I hold white eyelet cotton down between my legs with my left hand, and button my fast-beating heart down into my chest with years of practice.

I have no idea what's waiting for us three hours away, but it doesn't matter.

Knowing hasn't ever changed anything.

.

.

.

Between Elwha and Port Angeles, my phone vibrates in my purse.

Edward doesn't shift his eyes or move a muscle. I take my cell out and look down at the screen.

I have a little more than half a battery left and no charger. I also have one new message from Garrett.

_Hey._

I consider not replying. That's my first instinct.

In corner of my eye, Edward tilts his head back, just a little. He keeps his focus on the road, but he leans back slightly. He loosens his grip on the steering wheel, driving us with just the relaxed heel of his right hand.

His possessiveness is like this sometimes. Arrogant. Antagonistic from the closest distance.

I look back down at my phone.

_Hey,_ I type, and press send.

.

.

.

It's just after one. Early afternoon sun surrounds us on all sides. We've been on the road an hour and a half.

My phone hasn't vibrated again.

Edward leans, brushing his left fingers back and forth through his unwashed hair. It's grown out since graduation, since the last time I saw him―

I stop that train of thoughts in its tracks.

With his right hand loose on the wheel, the stretch of muscle and skin and bone from Edward's elbow to his wrist looks smooth, and strong, and touch-tempting. His jaw is set, and so are his eyes. He knows exactly where we're going. He knows what's waiting there, and he's taking me.

_So how bad can it actually be?_

The thought comforts me momentarily, and I think about turning in my seat, and facing him. I think about trying to open up some kind of line, but that little bit of give in my defense is gone when he sniffs.

It's a pathetic little sound.

I hate it with the deepest parts of myself, but it's so, _so_ small sounding. It's deficiency and subjugation and weakness, and there's part of me that just wants to hold him. I want to brush his dirty-messy hair back and ask where his hat is. I want to kiss his up-all-night-for-too-many-nights eyelids, and comfort him with cool softness I know he needs.

But then he sniffs again.

And he still sounds empty, but I don't want to help anymore. I want to hurt him.

I cross my legs away from love and lock my eyes on moving trees, because inside, I'm violent with pain and anger.

Because he does this all the time.

Because he misuses my heart _all the time_.

And because deep down, part of me still just wants to make it all better.

.

.

.

The sun is burning bright when we exit into busy downtown Seattle.

I've been here a few times, but never with Edward. I recognize streets and buildings as we pass, but in my stomach, I have that endless, terrible-anxious feeling that only comes from realizing you're lost.

And long-lost love still won't even acknowledge me.

I blow a breath out and comb my fingers through my wind-blown tangles while he switches lanes. _Where have you been? _turns with _Stop doing this!_ and twists with _Who the fuck are you?_ in my mind. My legs are tired and my feet are asleep from being in a car for three hours, and the hold I have on my composure is wearing.

I've got it though. I'm not backing down this time. When fight-or-flight kicked in under the willow tree, I chose fight and I meant it. I want Edward to know. I want him to hurt, and need, and struggle like I do. He _should_ give first.

I can hold my own in this battle.

I'm doing fine.

Until my phone rings.

Poppy guitar sounds and blippy synth beats fill the car before the vocals start :

_I was born a unicorn. I missed the ark, but I could have sworn, you'd wait for me..._

Guilt I felt for misleading my parents is faded and weak compared to the shame crushing my shoulders in this moment.

_I know I should answer. She thinks I'm still at home, and not answering would be suspicious._

But I'm too nervous. All I can think of are blanket forts and un-bought birthday cakes, and a house that's nothing like a home, and how much he hurt my best friend, and_ I can't._

_I can't do it._

Far away next to me, out of the corner of my eye, Edward shifts. He straightens his posture and breaks our silence.

"Answer it," he says casually.

My heart sinks for miles.

I look from the picture on my phone, all pink sherbet and bright-sunshine-smiling-through-his-absence, over to abysmal-black eyes still locked on the road.

He knows it's her. He knows.

My throat closes up. My voice feels stuck. _I can't do this_, I want to tell him. _How can I do this? _

_How do you do this?_

Edward snorts under his breath without looking over, and turns right down a street I've never been on. His voice is hollow sounding and irritably edged when he speaks again. "Answer your phone, B."

My heart plummets lower, weighed down by years of cracking and breaking. My toes curl against my wedges and my fingers clench tight. My arms are so tense they hurt, and I close my eyes, fighting inside for any and every bit of calm I can piece together.

I have none, but I bring the phone to my ear because I can't not. She's my girl, and she was by my side practically every second he wasn't. She doesn't deserve this.

What's up?" I answer, just not croaking. I clear my throat around so long without words and exhale carefully. City miles breeze across my face and neck and bare arms as Edward drives. I hear other cars passing and radios thumping. I feel the traffic of the world outside, moving, but I've sunk so low I don't feel connected to any of it.

Behind my closed eyes, Ally's voice is beautiful blue heaven. "Hey, sugar baby, what are you doing?"

I press my left hand to my forehead. I feel hot inside, but I don't _feel_ hot. Even with shut eyes, everything is blurry and not even real, but too real feeling.

_I can't do this,_ I think. _I can't do this. _

Getting dinner." Lie. "What are you doing?"

Watching _Land Before Time_. Wanna go to the beach later?"

I can see her so clearly in my mind, hanging off the sofa upside down, the purple ends of her hair brushing the carpet, bare feet resting on the back of her mom's couch. I wonder if she's still drinking out of straw glasses.

I press my lips together hard and swallow tightly.

"I can't." Not a lie. My hands shake against keeping my voice steady. "Dad's on this overnight thing in Port Angeles."

Next to me, Edward doesn't make a sound. He doesn't stretch or shift. He doesn't even sniffle, but I feel his temper heat the small, open space around us. His bitterness fills the air and gets stuck in my lungs like the scent of hot asphalt.

Breathing stings.

"Oh." My best girl sighs.

I silently beg her to not ask any more questions.

"Lame," she continues.

I'm deplorably thankful.

"That sucks. Call me tomorrow?"

I nod, even though she can't see me.

_I want to. _

_If I can._

_God, why am I so scared there's not going to be a tomorrow?_

"I will." I don't even know if I'm lying or not.

Kay, love you, strawberry baby." She's night-light-lit and best-friend-confident.

A tear rolls hot and fast down my left cheek. I miss her already. We spent almost every day her brother was gone together, and now he's sitting where she should be, and I might never get her back, and I want my friend back.

Love is the ruthless opposite of everything fair.

Two more tears follow from my left eye. I swipe them away with my free hand.

_Unforgivable. _

_This will not be forgiven._

Love you too, Sinatra-blue."

When we hang up, I lower my phone to my lap. I keep my eyes closed while I breathe through wanting to strangle the stranger next to me. My resentment is so strong it hurts my hands.

Traffic and chatter-busy sidewalk sounds drift in through our windows. The late July breeze is warm. We turn left. I hold my tears in.

Edward's close enough that I could touch him if I reached out, but, in reality, I'm completely alone now. The entire time he was gone, even at my lowest, I never felt as alone as I do right here, with Ally's _love you _ringing in my ears while I'm right next to him .

My grip is on dangerous edge. Reality feels like a place more than a state of being. Like sanity or insanity are steps I could take. Like coming unhinged would be easier than snapping my fingers.

I inhale as deeply as I can through my nose and hold it, drawing what strength I can from my loneness in this fight. It's painfully trying, but it's familiar ground. I swallow all the insults I want to scream and the demands I want to make, and exhale slow, slow, slowly.

Around me, the car slows too, and turns, and stops.

When the engine quiets, I blink my eyes open and squint through too-bright orange sunlight.

In front of us, Seattle is busy with late afternoon life. Black suits with briefcases walk alongside hipsters in cardigans and cut-offs. Parents dole out ice cream cones, and friends giggle over cell phones. Anthropologie is next to some place called the Dahlia Lounge, next to Serious Pie. On the opposite side of the street, there's a corner building. It's only nine stories tall, but it looks larger than life.

_The Hotel Andra_, a red sign hanging down the side reads, and I know without a single word and countless new questions, it's where we're heading.

"C'mon," Edward says, getting out. His gait is indifferent, his posture careless, and his eyes avoidant as he walks around the front of the Continental. The wind blows and I can see the shape of his body through his shirt. The top of his ribcage stands out : not a lot, but it's noticeable. He's thinner than I remember.

I press my lips closed, holding everything in as he comes around to my side, and opens the door.

He doesn't offer his hand.

I don't wait for him to.

.

.

.

We continue not touching or speaking as I follow Edward through the glass double-doors, into the low-lit hotel lobby. We pass the front desk and head straight to the elevators. We're not physically rushing, but it feels like everything is happening really, really fast.

We pass couples and small groups that talk and laugh quietly. The whole place smells like cherry maple, mahogany and rosewood, gardenia candles and new money, and reality― the fact that I have absolutely no idea what's about to happen―feels exponentially heavier than it did in the Lincoln. The ride here was uncomfortable in the extreme, but this place is totally foreign.

When the elevator doors close, Edward sticks his hands in his pockets and looks up at the glow-blinking floor numbers without lifting his head. Nervous as I am, I clasp my own hands behind my back, and remain every bit as still and silently stubborn as him while the elevator takes us up.

I think about prom, and drinking punch I knew was spiked without even a hint of hesitation because it was from him. Because even if my choice was risky, it was okay because I was with him, and he wouldn't let anything happen.

_So stupid._

Here I am, still following him. Still trusting him over my own judgment, but it's not the same at all. I'm a hundred miles from home this time, and the only person I know here is a boy who's really a monster, and in truth, a legal adult that's graduated from hoodlum to actual criminal, and I'm a matter of steps from following him into a hotel room without any clue who or what is inside.

Familiar names and faceless strangers criss-cross my mind. A bell chimes with every floor we pass, and with each one, I'm more scared we're heading for the bottom of everything, and I hate him more.

I breathe in and blink slowly, and I feel sick to my stomach because after all that's happened, with all the wrongs on both our sides, there is still part of me that wants his assurance. I want him to take my hand, or even just look at me, anything to show me it's okay. This is okay. That even if we're about to walk into a room full of people, _we're_ okay because we're _together_.

He doesn't say a word.

Or remove his hands from his pockets.

Or lower his eyes from the changing numbers.

This isn't okay.

We're so _not_ okay, and he doesn't let me mistake it for a second.

When the elevator finally stops on the top floor, my crooked heart exits first and my feet follow without any order from my brain. I don't try to fight the pull. I straighten my back and double my wedge-steps to keep up.

Soft-glowing lights line both sides of the hallway, tinting the walnut colored carpet and ivory hued walls dusty gold. Everything looks antique and extravagant at the same time. It's thickly quiet in the long corridor, like the top floor of a library. The walls feel laden with secret-keeping.

Just barely ahead of me, Edward's steps are unrushed and impassive, but his black-on-black low tops don't drag. His stride is indolent, but aware and unswerving. I try to ignore my nerves as we pass door after door. I try to think about what it might cost to stay here a night instead of where we're going.

But , I can't.

I can't stop wondering who or what is waiting here for him, _for us_. I know I just saw Victoria and Dimitri two nights ago, but that doesn't mean they can't be in whatever room we're heading to. Not that it matters. In every scenario my fear spins, the faces are all blurred. Everything is black eyes and coke white, and dizzying. I can't stop picturing blank stares and greedy hands and powder, everywhere. I can't stop thinking about Edward, behind any one of these locked doors with the shades drawn for days, alone or surrounded, killing himself with his addiction.

When we get to the end the hall, he tugs his wallet from his back pocket, and pulls a key-card out. For the two seconds it takes him to slide-unlock the door, I don't breathe. My heart doesn't even beat.

_Be brave_, I pray silently, desperately steeling all of myself. _Be strong. Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid._

My heart doesn't restart until he pushes the door open and stands back, waiting for me to enter what I can now see is an empty room.

I step inside, and it's not really _empty_, but there are no strangers or blurry-unwanted faces, just Edward's navy and white Yankees hat on the floor a few feet away. Ben's white zip-hoodie is draped over one of the two lounge chairs. There's a phone charger on the table, mixed up with two empty -looking cigarette packs, headphones, a pen, and a few white cups with _Coffee Works _printed on their sides. I breathe, and the the room smells like foreign linen, recycled air, and hiding. A voice layered over foreboding notes supplicates and solicits from the iPod dock in the far corner. It's Radiohead, but I don't know the song.

_You want me? Fucking, well, come and find me. I'll be waiting..._

Eerie unease trickles from wherever my conscience exists, and seeps into my bloodstream in cold little drips. Behind me, Edward's phone rings a factory-set sound, and he answers as he closes the door. Speaking too lowly for me to hear, he walks to the opposite side of the room.

I turn away from him, and look toward the speakers across from me.

Dismal and disjointed minor chords creep louder through the air and provocative-ominous lyrics echo dark foreshadows in my ears as I look at the unmade bed to my far right.

_You want me? _Thom Yorke sing-song asks._ Well, come on and break the door down. I'm ready._

My backbone slips a tremble, but I set it straight. With twisting and aching curiosity that I can't help, I walk a straight line to the mess of heavy navy blankets and stark white pillows and sheets. There's a spiral notebook that looks like it was tossed on the corner of the king sized be d.

_I'm ready_, the singer taunts through the speakers, low and calculated, a dare and a warning all in one prophetic, disastrous breath.

_I'm ready. I'm ready. I'm ready..._

I look over my shoulder at my boy. His back is turned; he's still on the phone, and inside me, it clicks.

Edward didn't come to Forks today to _be _back. Maybe he didn't know if he'd return to this room with or without me, but he didn't check out of it. He didn't take any of these things when he left. He didn't even stop the music.

Turning back to disheveled covers that my soul has probably disintegrated and diminished into more than slept in, I grab the notebook I've never seen and flip it open. While he speaks in too-low tones, I scan the pages and let sick truth spread all throughout me.

I slow down and look closer. All but the last fourth or so of the notebook is full of script that varies from page to page, but is distinctly Dusty's. There are scribbles and scratched out phrases, and places where his words stray from the light blue lines. I stop when I see _love _and _can't _and _baby_, but I'm unable to make out anything else before my eyes close, holding back tears so hot, they burn.

All of my hurt sharpens into pure rage. My heart feels harder than stone behind iron ribs, and my blood courses like boiling mercury. I'm a living, breathing unapology. I am vindication, and I want the source of my existence to ache like I ache.

I turn to face him, and my presently-absent soul still has his back to me.

He laughs. Not the kind I love, but it doesn't matter. He laughs.

He's on the phone with someone else, like here and now isn't the most important thing, ever.

Gritty organ-key tones, too many drums, and incensing guitars cloud louder as I step forward, over and around scattered pieces of sullen, selfish love. With every step forward, I am walking wrath. I am patience-lost. I am intent both to be heard and to hurt, and in one quick-smooth movement, I snatch the iPod from the dock, and fling it as hard and fast as I can.

The room is silent for half a second before plastic technology hits the wall right next to Edward and crack-shatters on impact. The breaking sound it makes only lasts another half second, but it fills me with a rush I've never experienced.

I breathe in, and it feels like fire.

Edward turns around without a flinch. He's stopped talking, but he doesn't take his phone from his ear. He meets my eyes, and the smug set of his lips and brow enrages me.

I heave breaths.

I haven't ever thrown anything in anger before, and the sudden silence I've re-surrounded us with is nothing like what we just drove through. This silence empowers.

We're finally here.

This isn't love.

There is no love in this room.

Edward stares me down, and I stare back. We stand still, but we're both digging like crazed, maniac miners for rock bottom. I lock eyes with so-gone black and breathe in flames until I can't take anymore. When I speak, I'm surprised by the calm in my voice.

"Hang up the phone."

He doesn't.

He doesn't move at all, and my calm burns down to fury faster than I can blink. I want to throw something else, and then I realize, I'm still holding his spiral in my left hand.

"Hang up the phone!" I shout, hurling the notebook at him. It doesn't fly as fast or straight as his iPod did, though. Ink-scratched pages flutter through the space between us, and land in an open pile at trouble's feet.

I feel like a wildfire, starving for kerosene.

Edward licks his lips, studying me with preying eyes, and I can see him considering moves.

"I'll call you later," he says into the phone, taking it from his ear and disconnecting the call. He takes one step forward.

Two.

Three.

I lock my feet and stand my burning ground.

Leaving some space between us, he stops and extends his right hand, still holding his phone. I glance between it and his eyes, and he stares, waiting for me to get it.

"Take it," he says, lifting his phone and his hand in offering, as if showing me its contents is supposed to be some kind of comfort . As if giving me his only link to anything outside this room is going to somehow make up for dragging me here.

Doubling my resolve, I smack his hand, sending his phone into the air and over to the corner of the room, because there is nothing he could offer.

_Nothing can fix this._

Edward shakes his head, but doesn't look away. He smirks coldly, and I want to smack his cheek, but I don't want to touch him. My fingers are tingling from the split second of contact they just made when I slapped his phone.

I close my hands at my sides.

Why did you bring me here?" I ask, louder than I need to, but not yelling as I search his pupils for something, anything I can make some sort of sense of.

His smirk curves into a cruel, condescending grin. "You wanna have this fight now, kid baby?"

My lips purse and press tightly. My lungs smolder, and my brimstone heart seethes hateful, jilted beats.

Edward spits acid through a smile I used to love. "We just got here, sunny side. You don't wanna have a little crybaby breakdown first?"

The flames raze, and burn deeper.

"C'mon, princess girl," he continues, his voice depleted and mean as he steps forward. "Didn't you miss me? Don't you want me to hold you?"

"Don't fucking touch me," I warn, shaking my head as I step back, pulling my hands out of reach, because I know. I want to hit him, but I know if we make contact that will be it, because I do want him to hold me. If we touch, I'll yield to our connection just like I did under the willow, and nothing will ever change. All of this will be for nothing.

Edward laughs, but he pushes his hands into his pockets, and for just a split second, I think he's really nervous. "Don't touch you?" He rolls sinful black. "Okay," he says, nodding like this is a game and he's just playing along. "Did you bring some fucking crayons?"

"Why did you bring me here?" I ask again, but this time I yell it. I demand so loudly my voice fills the room up.

He doesn't miss a beat or increase his voice in the least. He smiles so sincerely I don't want to believe it, and his dope-open wide-awake eyes are honestly curious. "Why'd you come here?"

You asked me to," I remind him spitefully.

Edward shakes his head. "No."

"Yes," I insist, furious that he can't remember, that he's so far fucking lost he can't even carry a conversation. "You did. You said to come with you ―"

"No," he interrupts, his voice a little sharper, a little louder now, but still not at my volume. "Tell the fucking truth, B. Why'd you get in the car? Why did I just watch you throw everything good in your life away?"

Fire swallows me, and I fall.

There's nothing to hold onto.

There's nothing but the darkness of knowing he's right.

I scream.

And scream.

And strain to keep screaming until my throat feels scratched raw.

I open my eyes, and I see red. I see my fate, standing tall across from me in shades of blood and black. He hasn't advanced, but I realize with open eyes that I've lifted my hands at some point, and am holding them up, palms out, telling him without a word to stay the fuck away.

Fire is an ocean, and I can't swim.

My whole life is struggling to keep from going under.

I hate him.

And all I want is for him to pull me up or drown with me.

Nothing makes any sense and everything feels like losing. Every breath feels like loss.

"What am I supposed to do?" Tears drip uncontrollably from both my eyes. "Am I just supposed to stay here and watch you do this?" I hear myself ask, my voice failure-filled and rough from screaming out. "Be fucking soft and sweet to you while you snort your life away?"

The breath I pause for is pain-filled. I want to stop, but I've opened the inferno, and I can't.

"Am I supposed to take you back _again_?Be your fucking girl? Am I supposed to ask my dad to walk me down the aisle so you can put a ring on my finger between lines? Hold your hand and tell you I love you while you kill us both? What the fuck am I supposed to do, Edward?"

I close my eyes and fight angrily through my tears.

"It doesn't matter," I cry, hatefully alone-feeling. "It doesn't even matter what I do, because you're never going to change. No matter where we go, or if we're together or not, you're a loser, and you're never going to stop hurting me."

The truth falls on silence.

Stillness.

I open my eyes. Tears spill.

Edward doesn't sniff or breathe or blink, and all I can see in his eyes is despair. Black. Bottomless. All-consuming. I see him, wanting to walk away. He would if there was anywhere to go, but there isn't.

Because this is it.

Love's a sinking ship, and it's taking us both.

My stomach feels twisted inside out, like needles that used to be butterflies are red-hot and sticking through every inch of me. All of my bones shake, hollow now and dying to break. I cry harder because I feel guilty. I feel lower than low because I know this took two. I pushed his patience at every turn and made him lie. I made him a secret when he begged me not to, and I betrayed his bound-to-mine heart when I tried to settle for another.

I feel whole-bod y-sick with shame.

"You fuck around on me all the time." I choke, clearing my throat of cries only so more can come up. I burn alive in my bitterness and I point my finger. "You left me." I sob, closing my eyes and pressing my palms to my temples to keep myself together. "You always leave me, and I don't even know who I am when you're gone. It's like I'm gone too, and I hate it."

My chest caves and my lungs suffer. I gasp and shallow-cry a few breaths, scrambling to get myself together.

When I breathe in and lift my tear-soaked lids, Edward's blue-less eyes are glassed over, and his breathing is unsteady, too. He swallows, and I see his Adam's apple and all the little muscles around it work. I swear I can see his pulse, writhing for each beat. He looks like unstable, impending devastation. He steps, and he moves with the grace only hunting can bestow.

He stalks.

I'm frozen in flames.

Watching me with wild eyes, Edward breathes out a breath that looks like it kills him.

"I fucked a girl last October," he says. "The day before I came home."

I almost fall. My knees shake out of control, but I'm stuck.

Edward's eyes bear down and his voice drops in both pitch and volume.

"I don't know who she was," he says. " I couldn't pick her face out of a line-up."

I close my eyes and feel tears drip. A veil of static and pale, and red, heart-shaped sunglasses burns the backs of my lids. Hers is a face I'll never be able to forget, and he wouldn't know her if he saw her.

Pressing my lips together for a beat, I open my eyes and hold his. My voice is emaciated sounding as I speak; nothing but resentment comes out. "I heard."

He stays still, but his temper spikes. I see it in his constricted grimace, tight-lipped and narrow-glaring. It's in the slight shake of his head from left, to right, to left. He steps, and I can feel his anger in the air, like a living, enmity-breathing being right here in the room with us.

"I don't even know her name," he says, pushing me with his words like he's pushed me with his all-day silence.

I don't really move, but I'm aware suddenly that I can. I stand taller and glare up at him, closing my hands to keep from striking out.

"I do," I tell him.

It breaks his back.

In a blurry few seconds, he reaches left with both hands and turns over the writing desk that's up against the wall, between us. I step quickly back as the iPod dock and speakers go flying, and the single wooden drawer falls open, cracking under the force of his ire and the weight of the desk itself. The two front legs crack , and the sound of brittle breaking echoes sharply in my ears.

I try to breathe, but there's no oxygen. There is nothing but venom, hostility, and dangerous proximity.

This is the loss of all control.

Edward's pallid face is flushed reddish-pink. Every breath shakes his whole frame. He parts his lips, black eyes darting around the room before locking on mine again.

Love is a burning building.

He steps right, around the mess of brokenness.

I step back, protecting the only thing that's protecting me.

Distance.

He snorts. His lips curl slightly. His tongue touches his bottom one as he steps, and this time, he doesn't use his words to push.

He sniffs.

It's pitifully small, and ten times worse than his words. It's a reminder that I'm not _her_, and that _she_ is here with us, in this moment. The funds he said were for our forever, are being blown on _her_. Neither he nor I is running any of this; _she_ is.

My chin quivers, and my eyes burn. I take one, two, three steps back.

I want to cover my ears. I want to tear him apart. I want to run and scream and destroy everything.

Edward sniffs a second time, because he has to. For every one, two, three unsure steps back I take, he takes another forward. Not advancing.

Maintaining.

My pulse is a storm in my ears, and my consciousness is full up with his nearness. I'm trembling from the inside out. He's so close, close enough that he could reach out and grab me, but he doesn't. He searches my eyes high and low.

I can't see through his at all.

Instinct cuts up my back. I've never felt this kind of scared. I can't breathe here.

_I shouldn't be here. _

I bite my panic down and tell myself I don't need air.

I stop, and he stills in front of me, keeping the space I've demanded.

I stand and face him, and I feel it in the atmosphere when he closes his hands into fists. It makes the lack of air around us even harder to breathe. He pushes me with his incurable black eyes, just like he pushed with his words and his silence and his sniffling, but I don't look away.

And when I don't back down, he pushes harder.

"I fucked Victoria for years," he says, empty-voiced and lowly taunting. "Right in fucking front of you."

My temples throb. Years of disloyalty pull like a millstone around my neck.

_I should leave._

_That's why he's doing this._

"I lied to you," he pushes. "Over and over."

_That's what he wants._

_I should leave and never, ever look back._

I try to swallow, but suffocation gets stuck in my throat. I try again, and it hurts, but it works, and I cling tightly to here and now with all that I have and all that I am.

_He did this._

_This is his fault._

_Why should he get what he wants?_

I don't get the chance to speak. Edward pushes with truth just like he pushed with his absence for weeks and self-centeredness for years.

"I use you," he tells me. "Just like I used her."

My hatred is fiercely fearless and burns my tongue like bile. "Tell me something I don't know," I spit.

Edward turns away, pulling breaths like fumes through his nose. He unclenches his fists, forcing his fingers straight out and apart, then closes them tighter together. He steps further away and turns again, and turns, and I know he wants to break something. He wants to break me. This is killing him, and the distance I'm making him keep is hell.

I know because I feel it, too.

My air intake is shallow and quick, but it's steady between fear and loathing as my broken heart turns again. Showing me his profile as he faces the door, he drags his hand down his face, thinking, deciding, rethinking.

He sniffs.

He blinks.

He sniffs again.

He breathes.

He steps in my direction, and I take two back. I'm not leaving him or this moment, but when he looks at me, from head to toe and back again, his look makes me nervous. His black is warm with tears he's fighting, and it's so endless. Hopeless. Edward's eyes are grievously desperate when he locks them to mine.

He steps, and I keep our distance.

He dares and pleads with delirious eyes and mournful shoulders, and I step carefully. The bottom of the ocean burns, _but what else is there? _

If he can do this, so can I.

Dusty licks his lips. His poor, pitch-dark, so-lost eyes seek and beseech, but it's too late. He speaks the words before I realize saving us means just saving myself.

"I had sex with her for the first time after that day on the porch swing, with you. "

My soul unravels.

"That―"

The lack of air in the room hurts my ear drums.

I shake my head.

I close my eyes.

I don't want this truth.

I don't want to know this.

Edward steps, and I open my eyes. I try to speak again and it sort of works. "That day―"

I choke again while my dirty bare feet and his brand new shoes, side by side on his mother's front porch, crumble to a million pieces in my mind.

_"Rule number one is that you have to always smile when I'm around."_

_"Fine, but I have a rule, too." _

_"What is it?"_

_"You have to always tell me where you're going."_

_"No."_

_"Yes."_

_"That's not even the same, Bella." _

_"It's still a rule, and rule number three is that you have to follow rule number two, always."_

My closed hands shake. I shiver all over, so hard my bones ache.

Edward doesn't move. He's still as a statue, except for his eyes. He clamors and compels with his strung-out-to-the-split-ends-of-his-rope black, waiting impatiently for me to just fucking get it already.

"You―" I have to push the thought of us so fated and fucked at only twelve and fifteen, completely from my mind to do anything other than come apart at the seams.

"I told you where I was going," he says.

I'm beyond the limits of furious; I feel gone.

Like nothing, anywhere, was ever real.

Like cream soda floats in the woods are what nightmares are made of, and are now completely undistinguishable from reality.

My bad dream steps closer. His voice is so hushed and hollow it barely enters my ears.

"You're not smiling," he pushes, two tears rolling fast, all the way down each of his cheeks as he blinks.

I swallow air like a knife and step back, shaking my head.

I want to run.

I want to climb the walls and break all the bad modern art, and burn the whole fucking world down.

I can't do this.

I can't process this truth.

I can't live this moment.

Shifting my feet to leave this state of being, I step back, and it all happens insanely fast:

I don't register if the give is in my footing or the floor, but my left heel stumbles and I lose my balance. I try to regain it with my right, but I'm dizzy, and my shoes teeter on the carpet. My eyes open wider and I see Edward reach for me.

I shake my head.

I'd rather fall than let him in my body-space.

But he's got even gravity beat.

The second he closes his hand around my left forearm, I strike with my right. I hit his chest, his shoulder, his jaw. "I hate you!" I cry out. "I hate you. I fucking hate you."

Edward pulls me to himself. I scream and cry, and kick and hit. I exceed hysterical. I am gone.

Edward just holds me tighter. His arms swallow me. His pulse is psychotic, and his hands don't relent. He gathers a fistful of my hair in his right and bunches the back of my dress in his left.

Past unyielding, his hold is aggressive.

In the back of my lost mind, I worry for my ribs. I wonder if I'll hear he breaks them, but the thought is gone the second I hear him inhale.

He hasn't lost an ounce of his physical strength, but he is so thin, and when he breathes from deep inside, and it's embarrassed-sounding.

Angry.

And soul-wounded.

And starving.

Edward digs his nose into the bend between my neck and shoulder, opening his mouth. I close my eyes and beg God for strength, because I feel it. I can't deny this. I feel everything―my heart and my hurt, my better judgment, all sense of self-preservation, and all my burning, blinding hostility and distrust―all of me, wants him. He's the source of everything in me that aches and hates, and all I want in the whole world is for him to hold me.

I gasp deeper. I cry harder. Our feet stumble as we struggle; I'm still hitting him.

"Why are we like this?" I cry and cry. "I don't want to be like this."

We stagger and slip and hold tight.

Edward's parted lips and panicked give-me-all-your-air breaths burn my left cheek. He doesn't kiss. He just touches me with his mouth. Just like he used to. And it hurts. It pierces so deeply; I can't even see.

My vision is gone. I'm screaming and crying in the dark.

"Tell me to stop," he begs and demands, drained and desponding against my skin. "Tell me to leave you alone. Tell me you don't love me."

My whole body throbs sorely. I can't believe I have any more tears, but I do, and they roll unsparingly down my already soaked cheeks. I lie well, but I can't even begin to shape my lips around those words. I can't, and this time, when my hands hit his shoulders, I grab on. I gather his shirt and grip until my fingers feel like breaking, then grip tighter.

Edward chokes out a sob. I can feel him breathing and fighting, and holding on too, and all I can think is _here he is._

_This is my soul._

_He's right here._

_This is a life that exists specifically for me._

_And I closed my hands in hatred, and raised them against him in anger instead of love._

I shake harder. I can't stop crying.

We grip and cling and bend.

All our words criss-cross back and forth across my memory. I press my lips together until they burn. I want to apologize, but I'm not sorry. I meant everything I said, and that's the thing. That's why it hurts like this, because whether I say these things or not, I still feel them, and I don't want to. I don't want to be this.

And suddenly, Edward's hold goes from frightening to inadequate.

I clench his tee-shirt fiercely in my fingers. I weep uncontrollably over my heart in his chest, and he loosens his fist from my hair.

The loss of it hurts.

_Tighter_, I wan t to cry, _more. You can't hold me enough._

With his left hand still gripping the back of my dress, Edward brings his right down and places it over my own on his shirt, like he knows. He helps me hold on.

.

.

.

I half-wake to him brushing his thumb purposefully back and forth along the bottom of my belly.

I swim through sleep and turn my cheek, nestling my face more into a pillow that smells like home. I keep my eyes closed. I don't want to be awake. I just want to feel.

His touch is heavy and slow.

His touch is all I want.

It started a minute ago, or a few, or some seconds. It's hard to say. I'm dizzy. I don't know how long I've been asleep, but I'm surrounded in his scent and the comfort of belonging, and nothing else matters. Everything is okay, because he's here. Edward's holding me so close. He's touching me, and his touch is enfolding.

I slip and twist between dreaming and exhausted.

Edward stretches his fingers, laying his palm flat against the bottom of my belly. There's something thin and unwanted between his skin and mine, and I remember; I'm wearing a dress, the white halter one that Esme bought me.

Waking creeps closer to conscious thought, and I close my eyes tighter.

_I don't want to know anything. I just want to feel._

Like he senses my hesitation, Edward presses his palm and brings me firmly to himself. I feel his chest, his heart beating between my shoulders, and the bottom of his stomach against the small of my back. He wraps his left arm under and around the top of my waist. Behind shut eyes, I roll through his embrace. I open my mouth for air. I cover his right hand with both of mine, and press his touch. I turn my cheek and bury my face further into his pillow.

Edward leans and curves around me, dragging his nose from the back of my neck to just under my ear. My hair is down and everywhere. I feel him breathing through it as he stills his thumb and starts to draw the slowest circles with heavy fingertips, inches below my belly button.

My chest tightens. My eyelids burn. Breathing is difficult, and I feel lost. Everything hurts.

Dull and awful and raw.

I feel like I've hurt enough for two lifetimes.

In the dark behind my cried-out eyes, truths I thought I couldn't bear stack on top of memories I don't want to have - his open-honest eyes the night before graduation, when he told me he was nervo us. His so bright smile the next day, falling when I shushed him. His tight teeth and inability to breathe when he pushed me out of his room.

A month of pretending to be alive.

A too long, too silent car ride.

The sound of his hands sliding into his pockets in the elevator.

And the sight of two tears while present love spills terrible truth and reminds me I'm not smiling.

A small sound comes up from my throat, and I press my lips together.

Without warning, Edward slides his touch from my belly to my bent together legs. He moves his hand under my dress and covers me with his palm.

Everything that hurts, whimpers and rocks under his touch. My pulse thrills, and my hands don't leave his. My toes curl, and I realize I'm still wearing shoes, wedges I buckled hours ago, this morning, before...

My awareness is suppressed, guarded and cautioned by my subconscious, but with each second it edges closer to the forefront.

I remember fighting with him, and screaming, and hitting in the dark. I remember disappearing into gone, and the sensation of steps, of being carried. I remember my blurry sense of equilibrium turning, and then nothing, except the scent and all-over comfort of home.

That's the last thing I remember, though: my shoulders touched the bed first, but I turned my face into cool cotton, hidden vanilla, stolen smoke and spirit-splitting true love the second my head brushed the pillows.

I want to go back to sleep. I don't want him to stop touching me, but I don't want to face this.

I don't want us to be lost.

Edward drags his nose back and forth under my ear. He rubs my softest place with quick, capable fingers. His touch makes everything that hurts, warm and want. His touch wakes, and I want his love, but I don't want where we are to be real.

I don't want this to be it.

I don't want to be gone.

Stifling another cry, I press my lips and eyelids tighter closed. I push his hand with mine, unable to tell even myself if I'm trying to get him away or closer, but it doesn't matter. Edward moves at his own pace, and doesn't let me push or pull him in any direction.

He rubs persistent circles through light pink cotton, and I can feel it starting. I want it, but I'm nervous at the bottom of everything, and he's so much more awake than I am. He's so present, and he's impatient with my hesitation. I can feel in his breathing that he's concentrating too much. His hold around my body is too tight, and his touch feels more full of purpose than care.

I shake my head to uncloud everything, and push harder at his hand. His breathing picks up, and he digs his nose into the crook of my neck as he slides his left arm down, spreading me wider. He rubs between my legs with both hands, and I'm still scared. I still hurt, but I really feel it now: my yearning, pleading, dying need. I feel heat opening up, and I want it. I want to give in and melt.

But love is ungentle with his touch. He wants to burn, and I love that it's for me. I love that he's here with me, but his hands are purely need-guided, reminding me how messed up everything is, and I can't do it. I can't come apart like this.

I struggle to curl in, to close up and slow down. Edward curves his left and right fingers with mine and makes me touch myself too. He moves my hands at his quick-steady pace, and we rub together between my legs.

It feels unbelievable.

I strain behind closed eyes and whimper behind pressed tight lips.

I want his voice. I want him to say something. Anything. He's never this quiet when he touches me, and I need something more to hold onto.

I try to press my legs together, but he won't have it. And not only will he not have it, he wants more. In one quick shift, he moves to his knees and kneels between mine, tugging me under him. I blink in the hazy, hasty adjustment and see the ceiling of his room-so-far-from-home painted in early-sunset light. I blink again and look down to see his messy bronze crown, and his shoulders stretched under his gray tee-shirt. Yellow-orange sunshine and opaque shade falls across us and the bed in long slanted lines from blinds that were closed when I entered and are now parted by something thrown or broken.

I blink. I can't see his face; he has it buried in my neck.

I close my eyes, and as I do, irreparable love sinks against me. Hips to heart, he gives me all of his weight, and I whimper again, but this time, it's in sweet, soothing relief.

Edward groans an open-mouthful of breath against my collarbone and shifts his hands to either side of my head, holding himself up just slightly. Just enough to move.

He's hard.

And he feels so, so, so good this way.

I keep my eyes closed, but let my lids relax. His hips keep my thighs spread to fit him, and his long, unapologetic movements make my dress ride up. Forgetting what's real and getting caught up in needing-love is much easier this way. From this angle I can drift in the feel of want being tended to.

It's been forever, and there's comfort in this closeness. I've missed him so sorely. I've needed him so much.

I tilt my head back and concentrate on the feel of warmth opening, and slow, slow, slow sparks tickling hotter with every push he gives. I can feel the shape of him through his jeans and the strength in his arms on either side of me. I can feel the weight of muscle and hunger and bone. I can feel how powerful he is with every overworked breath, and I lick my parted lips.

I want.

I arch my back and push my hands through my hair, holding tight to my ends―_close, so close._

I lift higher. I strain.

Pressing me back down, pushing all the way against me, grinding slowly and so hard it almost hurts, Edward straightens his knees slightly, forcing my legs a little up and more open. He takes my left fingers from my hair. I blink, but his face his is still in the bend of my shoulder as he brings my palm to the side of his neck, right over his pulse. He lowers his hand back to the pillow next to my head, and his heart beats heedlessly under my touch.

Everything that hurts, opens .

My blood trembles and hums.

My heart double-beats desperately.

All my muscles tense, and I bend my legs, trying to hold him where I need. I try to move in harmony as he drags his open mouth from my neck to my cheek, and rests his forehead against my temple. He strokes slower, relentless, not leaving my body, not letting up, and when he speaks, his voice is rough. It's scratched-open sounding, and there's insistence there I can't even begin to deny.

"Come on," he whispers.

I grip on to his neck and shoulders with both hands, and arch my body so high, so securely to his, that I leave the bed. My voice comes undone around too-small gasps, and I cling to him as I shake through falling apart. I clutch onto love and breathe through my nose and beg God with my heartbeat to make this last forever and ever and ever.

I don't let go, but my arms relax a little as I start to drift back down. My shoulders touch the bed again first, then my back. I feel lighter, lifted. I breathe, and breathing feels easier like this, with him like this: Surrounding. In-between. Above and beyond. All over.

I open my eyes and glance up in a moment of lush and hopeful courage. Edward looks so alive, I can see him vibrating around the edges.

With barely lifted lashes and drawn together eyebrows, he moves swiftly. He reaches both hands under my dress and nudges my unders to the side. I curl my fingers into pushed-up white eyelets, lifting and parting naturally as he slides my body open with his fingers, and feels me like he's searching.

It's difficult, but I keep my eyes open. He's too beautiful this way: caught up, so all or nothing, unflinchingly earnest as he seeks. His touch is shameless and indelicate, but so welcome at the same time. I revel helplessly in it, but it's gone again as quickly as it was there.

I bend my knees and press my legs in, around him, blinking as he moves his left hand under me. With his eyelids still low, he presses into the middle of my back, making me arch as he covers my center with his right again. He pushes down with the heel of hand, and the pressure he creates is physically undoing. It steals the air from my throat and makes keeping my eyes open impossible.

Between his hands, I bend like I was born to, and Edward holds me in place like the natural, irresistible phenomenon that gives weight to all things. He returns his lips and nose to the bend of my neck, and rubs with his fingertips while he presses with both hands. My hold on control and connection to reality spins as he speaks.

It's going to hurt more if you're not ready," he whispers.

My whole life clamors up in my throat. I clench my eyes shut tighter and fight my alarm. My bearings are in vertigo and my understanding of right and wrong, of okay and so the opposite of okay, is distraught and unreliable. His hold is all I can comprehend. It's all there is.

I grip his arms, struggling to remember how to get oxygen to my lungs. I chase my breath, and Edward arches me harder, drawing tightly determined circles over where I'm most nervous and just as needing. He needs me to fall apart again, and I want to. He's making me want to so badly, but I'm stuck inside on what he said and what it means. I can't get out from under my own nerves.

_Here?_

_Like this?_

_After years of "No, baby," and "_ _We won't be like that"?_

I hear my cry-raspy voice around my uneven breathing. I press my eyes so tightly closed they pinch. I feel myself trying to close up again, trying to push him away.

Edward leans up abruptly and ungrips my fingers from his arms. He places both of my hands between my legs. I burn warm under my palms. I can feel how willing and ready my body is as he covers my hands with his own, directing pressure and rhythm.

"Keep your hands right here," he tells me quietly. "Just like this."

I open my eyes to his torn up tone, nodding even though he doesn't look up from our together-touch. He sits back onto his knees and reaches for my left foot. Equal parts anxious and enamored, I stay and move, just like he showed me.

Love has low-down intent and nimble fingers. He unclasps my shoe easily.

Pleasure and desire pull and dizzy, while perception and comprehension turn feverish. Edward tosses my shoe to the side, and I watch him, watching me as he reaches for my other ankle. I bend my left leg and rub my bare foot along his denim covered calf while he works the other little white buckle open. I pant, and push-slide my fingers, and feel myself blush from my cheeks to my chest under his stare.

He doesn't look lost in this place, like I feel, or broken beyond repair. Assertive confidence hardens the contours of his face while light and dark fall across him in stark lines. He looks sure of himself in this position, and older somehow, stronger than just nineteen. It all messes up my already blurry focus. Unknowing and mistrust and indecisiveness pull me from sensation. I can't help wondering where he was while his best friend held me up, and my chest tightens severely.

I don't stop rubbing, but I close my eyes to my current surroundings, unable to accept truth in its annihilating entirety.

In the same second, Edward slips my shoe from my foot and throws it. It hits hard on the wall to my right, and I open my eyes just as instantly as if he'd told me to. I catch his, and they're fated black, doomed wheels of fortune. His eyes are dice that were loaded from the start, and I tense up in panic under him.

Grabbing the bottom of his shirt, he pulls it up and off quickly. The fabric leaves dark bronze sticking out in every direction. Sunset and shadows slant across his chest, and it's all too much. I reach for his hands as he reaches for his belt.

A laugh slips and falls through his sad, antagonistic half-smile. "You think you're going to stop me, B?" H e asks, returning his desperate eyes to mine, unbuckling leather from nickel right under my hands.

My faculties shake with my fingers as he opens his belt. He bears down on me with his eyes, lost and unfindable. He gives me an insubstantial fragment of a moment to make a reply. It's barely enough for even a breath before he reaches under my dress again. This time though, he doesn't touch.

He grips.

_Not here_, my doubt implores.

He gathers.

_Not like this._

I can't even stop myself," Edward whispers, tugging light pink soft cotton down.

My heart stumbles and shakes.

I curve my legs with and against his tugging, and keep trying to stop his hands. He doesn't push mine away at any point. He continues right under them until my unders are around my left ankle and he pulls them completely away. Sliding each of his hands up my parted legs, he stops at my knees and bends them more open. His eyes never leave mine, and I search his anxiously.

There is no blue anywhere to be found. Just black. Perilous, inarguable, unrestrained black.

Pressing his fingers into the bends of my legs, Edward pulls me closer.

My body slides down.

My dress rides up.

I grasp his hands tightly, pushing, pulling, digging in with my nails and fingertips.

"Do it," he says softly, taunting my lack of faith as he hovers closer.

My stomach somersaults, and my blood sings for him. He searches my eyes too, pushing my knees apart before returning his hands to his jeans. I don't have to look to know what's happening. I feel him undo the button.

"Go ahead," he pushes, undoing another. "Tell me to stop."

In the seconds he takes looking and listening as he undoes the third button, I shake my head. I'm terrified of so much in this moment, of the permanence and inescapability of what's about to happen, of how much it's going to hurt, but I need him. I need from somewhere inside me that I can't reach or touch or understand. Need is a place in my life force that existed before me, that I carry in-between my blood cells. There is no right or wrong in this need, just urgent, soul-tied compulsion.

I fight with my arms and legs, my hands and knees. I endeavor to survive through feeling my heart break open wide enough to grant my requirement entry.

The hurt goes so deep into that sacred place in my blood, that all sound in the room drops out as Edward undoes the last button on his jeans. I feel the bed shift under us as he leans up and brings me with him, gathering and tugging my dress away. I see the room blur in sunset and shadows, but my heart is all I can hear.

We struggle together, me in my never-more nakedness and him with his black jeans and belt hanging open over gray boxer-briefs as he tries to lay me down. I wrap my arms and legs, and hide my face in his neck, though. I cling tightly. I can't bear the thought of letting go.

Edward doesn't make me. He keeps his left arm around my back as he presses me into the bed again. Reaching between our hips with his right hand, he pushes his clothes down, and I inhale so deeply it cuts my lungs as he presses himself between my legs.

I close my eyes and arch sharply.

He's not within, but between and heavily against me, soaking himself and sliding slowly. I can feel my body parting and opening like my heart for him, and it hurts just the same. I can feel my whole world trying to open up and it's painful, frightening, and home-welcoming.

Stomach to stomach, chest to my breasts, and warm, deep breaths all over my neck, Edward slides his length, lifting his hips just enough from mine each time to spread me more with every slow push.

It feels so good, I blink tears.

It feels so tremendously fucking good; I see white stars behind my closed eyes.

My fingers and toes all curl, and my belly drops. Every inch of my skin tickles, and I feel like I'm going to burn into light, but I freeze under his next push. He groans next to my ear as he stops mid-slide and presses the head of himself right against me.

Love is all pressure.

Love is pressure so hard it feels impossible.

My eyelids fly open, and I find Edward's face close to my own. His brows are drawn together tightly, and his entire frame is shaking. I feel it in his arms, where he's holding himself up on his elbows on either side of me. I see it in his shoulders. He's all pulse-beat and sinew. He's all heart, nothing but heart, and his black overflows beat after beat when he lifts his eyes to look at me.

My mouth opens as he starts to push. His eyelids lower, but he holds mine, and I know this is it. He's not going to stop this time, and I don't want him to, but there's so much, and I feel like I can't―

He pushes the head of himself fully inside, and I lift to open.

I shake just like him, and press my hands into his shoulders.

He shakes harder, keeping his eyes on mine, and keeps going. He pushes with his hips and all of my muscles clench. I cry out, and try to close my lips and the sound, but it's too much. He keeps pushing, and my voice breaks and everywhere goes dark. I'm swallowed by the same black that holds his heartbeats, and I try to scream, but there's no room in me for my voice anymore.

I cling violently tight. It burns. Everything hurts. I twist, and arch, and try, but I can't. I need it more than anything, but I'm too small for this love.

Darkness turns purple around the edges as Edward pushes to a place inside me I've never felt. Tears leak, half because it hurts, and half because I need him so much deeper. I want to hide my face in his neck like his is in mine, but I don't want to take my hands from his shoulders. I feel like I'm holding him up.

I don't know how long we stay like this, but for what feels like forever, there is nothing but hot and dark and full.

The moment I realize he's stopped pushing, I feel stuck. I feel pinned and brimming and red. I try to shift, to adjust and accept in the burning dark, but with every movement, all I can feel is how inside me he is.

Edward has a handle on his shakes now, but it's thin, ready to break. I can feel it in his breathing. Love is suffering through going slow. He wants to sink against me. He needs to fuck.

I open and close my eyes quickly a few times. The room looks huge around us and the air feels like there's not enough again. Because of how my neck is arched, all I can see is the ceiling, and I don't want to move any more than I need to, but I want to give. I want to give him this.

Letting my eyes close again, I breathe in hot full-dark. I can't help a little cry; I feel him when I inhale.

Sliding my hands from his shoulders to his neck, I curve my fingers into his hair. He groans against my collarbones.

Light flickers low and so deep in my belly. Pressure stings and fullness aches, but I think _maybe..._

_Maybe if he goes really, really slowly... Maybe... Maybe he can move, and it will be okay..._

But, there's a spike in his breathing, and I wince, and _I don't know._

_Even if he goes slow, I don't know if I can do this._

His heart beats so hard. I can feel it in his neck, against my wrists, and in his chest pressed to mine. I can feel it where he's inside me, and I want to love him this way.

So, I tilt my neck and press my nose to his temple. I brush my fingertips gently through his hair, and he breathes harder. The muscles in his arms tense tighter and he drags his lips toward the back of my ear. Without moving his hips or speaking a word, he takes my left hand in his right.

I think maybe he's going to pin it to the bed, or over his heart, and my own flutters in love, but he does neither. He brings it slowly down instead, to the space between his hips and mine.

I'm confused that there's any space to fit our hands, and at first, all I feel are flames. There's nothing for me to feel but pure heat. Then he places my hand on myself, and my heart convulses. I feel how tightly spread and stretched my body is, and then I feel _him_, and fear rushes renewed through me even stronger than before.

Bringing my fingers up, Edward places them at the base of himself, showing me.

_He's only halfway._

With my other hand, I grip onto the bend between his neck and shoulder. I blink tears that burn my eyes. I can't close my mouth and I can't breathe. Fear is lung-twisting and spine-shivering..

I can't be still, again.

I can't open enough, _again_.

_There is still so much of him left._

I can't.

_I can't_.

Still without a word, Edward brings my hand up and I think he's going to return it to his neck, but he places it over his heart.

His pulse is flying.

Silence expands in my ears. Fear swells. I grip and push at his body, trying to brace myself as he steadies his weight onto his left hand, above my shoulder. With his right, he palms my thigh, between my legs, and with heart-overflowing eyes, he looks down into mine.

"Be still," he tells me so lowly.

I lose myself in his black. I give myself to it. I watch him, watching me as he presses down on my leg, making me open so much wider.

I breathe.

I try to breathe.

Love's breath catches too, and pressure overwhelms.

His eyelids lower. Above me like this, he's a thousand years of weight.

He starts to push again, and I feel my soul split.

I will every part of myself to _open, open, open._

He pushes, and pushes, and I try to breathe, but can't.

Until he drops his forehead to mine and his air is on my lips, and then I can breathe. Breathing is almost all I can do.

Breathe, and open.

Edward breathes hard enough for us both and braces himself closer. With his eyelids lowered and his nose to my nose, he pushes deeper. All the way.

I feel his stomach against mine and his hips against my thighs, holding me open so that I can hold him. The small of my back is arched so steeply I think my bones might slip. I shake and shake, and I think my body might actually break to make the shape forever takes. I feel like if he moves, I'm going to snap like a stem.

But he does move, deeper. He presses down harder on my leg, and I hear his hand digging and gripping at the bedsheets next to my ear. I close my eyes too. It burns like open fire. It hurts more physically than anything ever has, but I hold on. And I breathe his shallow breaths. And I try so hard to be easy for him.

_Be soft,_ I think. _Be easy. Be open. Open for him. Open for this love. _

_Open for him._

_Open._

"Shh," he kisses into my skin. "Shh." All soft lips and softer breath, and the very softest kisses. I don't know if he's trying to comfort me or himself, or both of us, but it works in the slightest, smallest way.

He rocks his hips forward just a little.

It moves my whole body.

Edward groans, and I blink. He's blurry this close, forehead to forehead, but even out of focus he looks like he's aching. His eyelids are closed painfully tight and his parted lips are shaped by bearing and enduring. His heart fever-beats too fast under my hand.

I'm in a room, in a city that feels nothing like home, and we're further gone than I thought we could go, but this bass beat... this dangerously quick pulse-rhythm, I recognize. _This_, is familiar.

_This,_ I know and understand, and cannot fight.

I wince as he breathes, because I can feel it between my legs and everywhere, and it hurts. Every second hurts like none other before it.

"Shh," he whispers again, kissing my top lip, comforting and assuring and trying.

My heart surrenders to his soft murmurs and his hard-drumming harmony, and just like that, something inside me gives. Everything still stings, but I accept. I let my so-sunken-soul sink deeper. I close my eyes and open my mouth, and sink with him.

And I know he feels it, because in the same moment, he starts to move. Not fast, not rushed at all, but so heavily. Forehead still on my forehead, his hands are everywhere, and he's rocking deeper with his whole weight.

I whimper through the sinking-drowning burn, and when he takes some of himself from me for a second, I can't keep from crying out. I want him back. I need him, right where he was. Just like he was. All the way.

Edward groans again as he returns to me, deeper than before, more than all the way. His left hand is around my side and his right fingers are in my hair, tilting my head back as he repeats the slow pull-back-to-push-deeper movement with his hips. He drags his lips down my cheek, over unhelpable tear tracks, and buries his face in my neck. I feel him, trying to kiss, wanting to, but his lips won't close and his breath feels so good on my skin, like he's literally trying to cover every inch of me with himself.

He starts to say something, but it's so low I can't hear him. He kind of moans, and it's sort of like audible grasping, like reaching, struggling. He pulls back and fills me again, and I feel my body stretch for, burn with, and bind to his.

I grip and cry and give, and inside, heavily deep under boiling water pressure, I hear him whispering.

"I knew it," he pants and shudders, holding the back of my head in his hand. He curves his fingers in my hair, brushing the shell of my ear with his thumb, and he's so hard inside me. So full. Overpowering. Unavoidable. There's no part of me that can't feel him, no part of me that can deny that this―_this_ is world altering.

Nothing will ever, ever be the same.

"I knew it. I fucking knew it," he whispers between sharp breaths and unabridged thrusts. There are no strings attached to his movements now. He's all passion. He's reveling and fulfilling. He's unconstrained love 'til-not-even-death-do-we-part. He's absolute. And he's falling into me, slipping deeper into burning, blinding soulful eternity with every push.

I cling to him, unashamed of my cries and my trembling, in love with the hurt that comes with securing myself to him this way. I'm in love with the sting he gives every time he push-pull-slides back inside. I'm in love with the pain in my chest that feels like it's ripped open every time he breathes in. I'm in love with his sounds, deliriously devoted and steeped in unbearable craving. I'm in love with his suffering muscles and barely-withstanding bones, with his blood beating so hard through his veins I can feel it under my hands. I'm in love with the part of him he's stretching and burning and completing me with. I'm in love with him, giving in, finally unrestricted and all-consumed.

Moving my hands up to his neck, I push my fingers through his hair, holding on as he angles my hips to take more. He drags his forehead back to mine and when he thrusts from this angle , I don't want to, I don't mean to, but I can't help struggling.

He's too deep. Too hard. Too much.

"Edward―" I swallow around his name and push at his frame, trying not to fight, but he doesn't ease up. He takes my hands and pins them under his, not slowing.

Our noses brush as he shakes his head. "Don't you move," he says, low and hollow over my lips, pushing both of my wrists above my head, under his right hand.

I open my eyes and his black is dripping. His lashes are wet, but his eyes are fixed and intent. He's willful and enlivened, and he's not going to stop. He can't.

"All the way," he whispers, sliding back, making my body lift in wanting, needing, please-come-backness. "We need all the way, Bliss."

He holds my wrists under his grip and my eyes open with his as he fills me completely, pressing down on my hip with his free hand. He loves me too hard, too far, immersing himself unfathomably deep into my world, and when he can push himself no further, when he's as all the way as he can possibly be, he grinds unyieldingly against me.

He rocks fast, and hard, and makes my marrow quiver and coo and beg. He digs, and makes me know, too. With every desperate breath, his heartbeat abounds and my own pulses toward the same abandon.

I hold tight and just feel.

With every beat, he's fastening us.

With every uninhibited thrust, he's carving me out, making a space inside me for solely himself. I'll never get the pieces back that he's taking from me here, and only he will ever fit.

I fall.

I feel like I pour.

I want to come, but I can't. The spark of flame that stings with every slide inside is too sharp, and I can't, but his movements slow like he knows.

He slows, but he doesn't ease. Every thrust is just as weighted, just as long and unchaste as every other before it, but he moves with purpose now. His shoulders square and his lips pout, and I swear I feel his pulse inside me, where we're connected.

He's close. I know it.

And I've never wanted anything more.

My legs shake, but I wrap them around his body since he won't let go of my hands. I arch to feel his stomach and chest better against mine, and I slowly, so slowly and tentatively move my hips to meet his.

He pants and groans. His eyebrows draw closer together and his grip on my wrists and hip tighten painfully.

I bite my lip and breathe hard through my nose.

He rocks, and slides, and fills.

I cry and need.

His jaw drops. His mouth hangs slack.

I press my forehead up, opening my lips under his.

He slides harder, faster.

He fucks me.

He fucks so fiercely, so utterly without control that I cry out loud, and then I feel him.

His hand leaves mine and he leans up, gripping both my hips and holding me down, keeping my lower half pinned-still as he starts to come. I feel him, crash landing and falling apart inside me, and I come up with him naturally. He holds my hips down, but I wrap my arms around his neck and don't let go.

It's hot. Slick-full-wet-burning-capturing- completing.

He pushes and pulls at my body, bringing his face to my chest, flattening one hand in the middle of my back and the other in my lower dimples, securing me to himself as he rides crashing waves. He breathes hard over my heart and comes, and comes, and I feel like I'm swelled with him, like if he's ever any less inside me than he is right now, I'll suffocate.

I blink, but can't tell up from down as he lays me back, still above me, still inside, still throbbing and aching and rocking so slowly. He still feels hard and it hurts, but it feels so right. I don't want him to go, ever.

Taking my hands in his one at a time, he brings my left up, around his neck, and presses my right palm over his heart. My fingers dig into his skin all on their own, wanting in, needing to touch and feel and hold him there.

Edward moans quietly as he rests his right arm above my shoulder, working his fingers through my tangled hair, brushing my tear tracks and blushed cheeks with his thumb. We're so close like this. Our closeness feels inseparable, and when he starts to move again, it stings, but my heart beats gratitude and purpose.

His heart pulses just the same, stacking strong, swift beats under my palm as he covers my right hand with his left, helping me hold on just like he did earlier. He moves, and I can feel everything changing. Little tremors of uncertainty and fear prickle my conscience, and I grip love tighter. I'm scared to think of anything after here and now. I'm afraid to let him go, but it doesn't matter.

He doesn't let me.


	32. Love is Red

**We do not own Twilight. Sacrifice is essential to love.**

**All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer, Jesse Lacey, Coldplay, Imaginary Cities, The Black Keys, and David Poe.**

**TeamBella and Karin are my loves. This would in nothing without them. Babymack, I love you like catching a three year cold. Kkbaby, I love you like frilly beans and hot nuts.**

**David Poe – Love is Red: **_The gladiolas in slow motion, a scar of tulips in the snow, my love is like a red, red rose – coveted, expensive and hard to grow. _

_Is she screaming bloody murder? Is she thrown across the bed? My love is as red as any crime scene. From the curtains to the carpet, man, if you know what I mean. There is no other color scheme._

_My love is red, as red, as red can be. _

_My love is red as sunset on the sea. My love is red, too vivid to be believed._

_My love is red._

**Chapter Thirty - Bliss**

Setting sunlight is gone when I wake. For a second, all I know is darkness and so-soft bed sheets.

Then weight.

His touch.

Seeking, gripping, parting.

Soreness through my legs and in-between.

We're naked under hotel blankets that are air conditioned cool. I don't feel cold, but above me, Edward is so much warmer than I am. His stomach and chest hover, and I can feel him burning up the space between us.

He presses his weight, and as he does, he slips and slides.

I think of hot rain, summer storms, and the ocean in June.

I think I've never felt like this. _Nothing has ever been like this_.

I feel wet all over, like we're rocking in a pitch dark, swelled full raindrop. But I'm small compared to love. He pushes as he slides, and I part my aching legs wider, trying to admit him, but it's not enough.

Edward lifts his weight from me and leans back onto his knees. The sudden absence of heavy and hot is breath-stealing.

I open my mouth for more air. I bring my hands up and rub my eyes and blink. I never felt him leave my side, but he's opened the curtains at some point. Milk-white moon and Seattle-at-night light cut through the dark. It's like we're on top of the world up here, above it. I look up to find love in shades of ink and ivory and silver. He's a narrowed brow and grown-out hair that won't stay pushed back. He's a sense-surrounding pulse beat and swift, intentional touches.

_We were just sleeping, seconds ago. _

_I was_—

Hours of silence and forced confessions drift through my consciousness. I remember following him down the hallway to this room. I remember hitting him, wanting to hurt him.

Edward's knuckles brush my inner thigh as he strokes himself with his left hand and slides his right around my hip. I remember his smirk and his lost eyes, daring me to stop him. I remember his whole body shaking as he pushed inside.

I can't see his eyes under his so-low lashes now, but I know he's looking between my legs, lining his body up with mine. I tense and blink and try for more air.

His voice burns low around me, hot and rough like embers.

"Let me," he says, slowly sliding his thumb up and down, slip-spreading my softest, sorest place.

I swallow such a deep breath that I take his name back to my lungs before it ever reaches my lips, and I push my hands up, into his chest.

Maybe I tremble.

Maybe I shake my head.

Edward digs his fingers into my hip and grips tightly. His voice burns lower.

"Bliss," he whispers, his tone like iron, like my name is a rule in itself. He parts me further with his thumb and rubs slowly, showing me how ready and willing I am. "You have to let me."

My arms and legs contend with his because I'm scared of the sting and the stretch and the pain, but he holds me in place. He strokes and guides himself with his left hand and pins me with his right. Using his legs, he presses mine up and opens softly swelled tender skin with his thumb once more.

I twist and pull with everything because I'm scared; but deeper than my fear, love is opening and wanting.

Edward's fingers on my hip dig all the way through to my bones.

Familiar impossible pressure burns as he presses into place. He steadies his weight on his elbows above my shoulders, bracing himself and keeping me where he needs me. His pulse all-encompasses and he's so, so, so fucking warm.

_I want this._

_Deep down in truth, I want him to break me, just like this, just so we can be as close as physically possible._

Edward drops his face so that his lips are by my ear and mine are by his. He kisses my hair and brushes his lips over the shell and ridges of my ear. He nestles his nose along the skin under my earlobe, and as he starts to push, the black shadows we're covered in turn garnet.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

But it hurts like heaven.

I can't control the sound that comes from me. He pushes it from the center of my soul, up through my stomach and chest, into my throat and it comes out in a breathless, need-filled cry. He moans into my neck. I don't hear it over my own voice, but I feel his desperate tenor vibrate against my skin. I feel his breath sink into me. I feel the shake that starts in his wrist, climbs up his arms and makes both his shoulders shudder. His stomach lifts and falls against my own with every too-shallow breath he takes too quickly, and all of his muscles flex and pulse.

"Fuck," he whispers.

It comes out all breath, dripping down my neck like hot drops of silver. I feel it slip and slide across my collarbones and down my chest as he shifts, lifting his hips.

I close my eyes, bracing myself for the weight and feel and fullness of forever-love.

In one smooth, deep push, Edward drops his hips and fills me again. Completely. Absolutely.

"Fuck," he says again, his pitch still quiet, low-down and dug-up against my skin. "Baby... fuck."

I grip his neck and his hair in my fists. I bend my legs and curve my back. I hear him hiss and groan when my fingertips break flesh, and I can feel him, losing himself in me.

"Fuck." He moans it this time. "Bliss."

His fingers are in my hair, pressing and rubbing against my scalp, He's holding the back of my crown, tilting my neck and supporting my head, angling my body to better fit with his. He's immensely hard, throbbing and generous inside me, sliding back and pushing further. He's tremendous and forceful and fucking ardently passionate.

"Baby," he breathes under my chin, kissing my skin, dragging his parted teeth and lips across my jaw. He kisses the side of my neck, dropping his hips harder, faster against mine, making me take every push.

Little aches and tight tingles pulse in my most delicate place. It hurts still, but it's starting to feel more like the kind of hurt I crave. The pain that proves this love is real, that it's cut out of crossed-stars and ours alone, is familiar to me, and comforting in a way that doesn't make sense, but doesn't have to. Loving Dusty has hurt for almost as long as I can remember. It's how I know I'm doing it right.

I pant against his cheek and whimper under every thrust. My boy moves quick and tirelessly, abandoning the skinny shreds of care and caution he woke me with in an effort to satisfy yearning I know is uncontrollable. He pushes and fills, and pushes harder still, deeper, digging to that place inside me only he can touch. He rubs himself against pearly gates and life everlasting, and I feel it.

Love is heaven, and heaven is all the joy and all the agony of letting love open you, bind you, and make you whole.

I cry.

I can't help it.

.

.

.

"Relax," Edward tells me, up on his knees, holding my hips, rocking right against my hands where I'm trying in vain to ease his movements.

I don't want him to stop, but the dull ache and slow tingling he's building in me feels like burning alive.

I have no idea if this is any kind of normal. I don't know what _normal_ is for sex. I have nothing to compare him or this to. I feel like it's been hours, but my heartmate is still cut out of moonstone and shadow. He slows occasionally, and loves me with deep, shamelessly adoring strokes, but we don't stop. He never takes himself from me, and he's still so hard.

"God, God, please," I beg in a small voice. My back is arched and my neck is tilted. My head is turned to the left and my hips are lifted to accept every weighted push. "Please, please..."

"Relax, baby," Edward he says a with pout-pretty lips that are curved up slightly on the right. He shifts his hands under mine and presses his palms against my inner thighs. My breath gets caught in my throat as he pushes my legs up, sliding his thumbs along where I hold him. Pulling back and returning to me slowly, ensuring I feel everything, he leans down a little closer.

I grip his arms, his sides, his back. His breaths tickle my breasts, and his teasing, coaxing, insatiable-in-love voice surrounds my awareness.

"Stop trying to push me out," he whispers, forehead creased and pink cheeked over his smirk.

I close my eyes and can't help holding him tighter. I roll my hips naturally, lifting and circling for more. He—_him, that part of him... his cock_—feels so good. My chin quivers and my legs shake. Every part of me shivers and squeezes.

When he groans, I feel his body echo the sound.

When he gives me me all of his weight, I feel him pulse with every heedful beat of his greedy heart.

When he breathes, I breathe. And when he can't, I can't.

_I love it._

_I love him this way._

_I love his body filling mine and making me bend._

I close my eyes. It feels like pure light is tightly concentrated in the pit of my stomach. I stretch my arms and legs out slowly, trying to open like a star while the weight of love digs deeper.

Entirety makes me cry countless, helpless and pleading little sounds.

_I need._

_I want to come._

_I want him to come._

_I want to feel him come._

The thought swirls with memory and makes all of me tingle and twist and strain. Edward groans a lower sound. I wonder if he can feel me.

Sliding one of his hands up my stomach, between my breasts and over my neck, down into the pillows above my shoulder, he holds me in place and digs as deeply as our bodies allow.

I press my lips together, breathing unevenly and too fast through my nose. I hear his smile curve higher in a half-exhale, half low-laugh.

"Open your lips," he tells me.

I blink.

I breathe.

I don't understand.

"Open," Edward says, sliding his other hand from my thigh to the bottom of my tummy. He covers fluttering, burning light with his palm and his fingers feel so hot and rough along my stomach skin. His explanation is a whisper while he brushes his thumb back and forth across my belly. "I want to hear you sing."

My jaw falls slack. My lips part, and I can't help moaning. Every ache he's making burn sparks like crazy. I sound low, lustful and laid irreparably bare.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull myself up. Love is on his knees and my limbs are all wrapped around him. He's the only thing in the world touching me. We're face to face, and he's got me. _And I love when he gets me._

"There," my reason groans between his breaths. His right arm curves around my waist while his left hand slides from the bend of my knee to my backside. He grips and presses and keeps me close. He rocks fast again, deep, without a single slip of abatement or hesitation.

My head falls back.

Maybe I scream.

Maybe I call out to love and God and anyone and everyone that can hear, because his sex feels too good, because _our sex_—

Our sex feels like it's going to overturn my whole life.

I curve my hips. My head and neck fall further back and I sing his name in desperate notes. I want mercy and ease, but I want him all the way inside more. I want him in my heart with his hands on every beat.

"There," Edward says again. His voice is scratched and encouraging, and so low I barely hear it. He pants words against my neck that don't register and he holds me to himself. He strokes swift and deep along promised peace and tingling-tight light, and I grab at him. I pull against his shoulders and bring my head back up. I wrap tighter around. Our lips brush and touch with his movement, and I am the most myself I have ever felt.

I am a single sixth-sense.

I am pure communication.

I am soul contact, and the feel of mine guiding me from the inside to fulfillment I know I was born for lights me shining bright.

New euphoria makes time not really exist. My doubts and apprehensions are beyond gone in this moment. Our sex dizzies and demands. We're not just connected; we are connection undivided this way. We're nothing but concentrated truth like this. It's physically and mentally staggering.

I see heart beats.

I hear red.

The sullen-selfish boy who carries my life in his lungs has dug himself so deeply into me; I swear I taste him on the back of my tongue.

I shake.

I come.

I come with him inside me; and elusively, far away in my mind, it makes sense, why it's called that. I cling to Edward's body with mine and I feel some special, sacred-secret part of myself come to him.

I'm breathless, but I giggle.

I pant and shake harder. My toes curl and my fingers squeeze. Tears roll freely down my cheeks, and I revel in how good they feel. I wrap my arms around white-moon-lit love and use his body for leverage, rocking and sliding with his uncareful pace. I roll and ride and take him all the way.

_All the way_, I think to myself over and over. _All the way. All the way forever._

It makes me see heartbeats again.

Still all I'm connected to in the world, Edward sinks harder into me. I whisper his name. I can't stop whispering his name.

"Baby," he pants against my cheek, vibrating life and breath. His balance falters. "Baby, Bliss, fuck, fuck—"

My smile lifts and parts. I gasp for every needing, lost and seeking, ache-filled push.

I blink.

Edward lowers me onto my back again, and he's everywhere. We're both in way over our heads, and I can't catch even half a breath. Hopelessly devoted fucks each one out of me as soon as I start to.

I can't care.

I remember I don't need to breathe. Not here. I need only to take. All I need is to open softly and let love, love.

It's insane to want someone as much, as badly and as deeply as I want him. To love this person inside me as sincerely and naturally as I do.

I want this love, just like this, for always.

I hold onto Edward with everything I have and hide my face against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat everywhere.

"I want you forever," I whisper over thundering blood and tortured bones. My voice is so faint I'm not even sure the words are audible, but I can't hold them in. "I want you more than life," I tell him.

All truth.

Irrefutable and unchangeable truth.

Edward moans so lowly, so scraped-hollow sounding for a second, I think he's hurt, but then I feel him—_that_ part of him. His cock hardens further and pulses deeper, and what started off sounding like pain warms into the sexiest unsteady breathing pattern ever.

This boy, this crazy, willful, incorrigibly passionate, all heart-and-soul-bound boy, coming inside me is what beautiful feels like.

It burns and it blesses. It disorients my awareness and turns all perception into sensation. I grip hands that hold my hips, and I savor every second of our sex like belonging. I love every twitch and every stroke he gives, every lost and infatuated sound he makes.

Somewhere, far away and floating, I hear myself pleading, almost all air:

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't ever stop..."

Love brings us so much closer I scream. He bends my legs over his shoulders and rocks deeper. He whispers assurances, but I can hardly hear him over all the red.

His nose brushes my nose as he speaks.

"Never." He shakes his head slightly. He licks my open lips and slides slowly, so deeply it stings.

I feel so wholehearted I cry.

_I don't know how to do this._

_Love is going to devour me._

_How can possession like this even be real?_

"Don't stop," I'm still begging, whispering over heartbeats and hard breaths. "God, don't stop, don't stop..."

"Not ever," Edward whispers back, pushing down on my legs. He presses my knees into the bed above my shoulders, spreading me completely. My head falls back onto the pillows. I gasp for air. I cry rapture.

I taste red.

I swim in red.

"Tell me," the only boy in the world whispers between pants and moans. His so-dark eyes are narrowed and the muscles in his shoulders, arms and chest flex as he grips and fucks and comes.

It's divine and kind of deeply lush feeling. It's hot and dreamy and enticing, feeling him pulse apart inside me this way. It's addictive.

Edward leans down close to me. His whispers touch my lips when he speaks, coaxing me from warm, overflowing heaven. "Tell me, baby," he says, pushing, sliding, filling me higher.

Truth free falls from my tongue: "I love you."

It lingers on my lips and invites his kiss.

"I love you," I swear, helplessly true. "I love you, I love you, I love you..."

.

.

.

"Edward," I pant hoarsely. My voice is all but gone. "Edward..."

My knees are bent-open at his sides and my toes are curled tightly in tangled sheets. My sore-from-gripping-fingers rest in his ridiculously disordered hair and my sleepless eyes are half open, watching tireless love work and overwork both of us.

Pleasure is mind-numbing and vision-blurring. I lick my lips and send a breath to my lungs. I blink.

The sun isn't up yet, but the sky outside our room is glowing blue with nearing dawn. My restless boy's eyelids are heavy, but they're open. Barely. He's looking down at my mouth maybe, or my chest. I don't know. His cheeks are red with exertion and his lips are slightly turned up in a kind of lazy, sort of proud, and stubbornly determined shape.

He's bare bones divine, delicious for my eyes and glorious to my heart. He's hard, handsome pleasure all over me, but I ache. I need things he can't give or do or be.

"Edward," I try again, shifting under his wonderfully deep weight and incessantly sweet rocking.

He hums like maybe he hears me, maybe not. "Hmm?"

His hips push. My thighs burn. He brushes his thumbs back and forth over my tender-to-and-from-his-touch nipples and I arch. I swallow two quick breaths.

"I need up," I manage between small sounds I can't help. "You have to let me up."

I need water. I need to go to the bathroom. I need just a second.

"Uh-huh," he says like maybe he understands me, maybe not. He nudges my legs up just a little and keeps rocking.

My whole body shivers and wants and resonates the sting of allowing him in over and over and over.

"Edward..." I stretch his name out while he completes me slow, slow, slowly and grinds himself, slick and strong and almost unbearably good against my softest, so-sore place.

"One more, baby," he whispers, kissing my cheek. "One more."

I close my eyes and open my mouth. I arch the small of my back higher and make my aching legs curl around his waist.

I nod.

I hold on tightly as he slides his right hand between us, slicking the pad of his thumb along hot, full-feeling lips and rubs my clit in tight, heavy little circles.

I sing his name. I grip his wrists. I tilt my head back and tingle violently bright under my skin. I come, long and raw and quivering, and when I start to drift back down,_I know I told him I need up, but now_—

Edward anchors his hands on each side of my head, slowing his sliding to all-the-way-inside stillness. The second he starts to carefully, grudgingly pull away, though, panic surrounds me.

"No—" I say before I even realize I'm speaking. I shake my head and bring him back to me by his sides. "Not yet. Don't go yet."

I don't know understand what I'm saying or how I feel. I'm dizzy and needy and _why can't I stop?_

Dusty laughs softly. His voice is gone like mine, but the lightly enlivened sound is comforting in my ears. He's enduring too and doesn't want to part either.

Still like this, I can feel his arms and legs shake, and his stomach rise and fall with each difficult breath. His chest and shoulders are flushed, and when I brush his hair back, there's sweat along his forehead.

Love is work, and love works so fucking hard.

He glides his nose along the side of mine and brushes his parted lips across my top one. "You feel so good, Bliss," he tells me quietly, kissing the corner of my mouth, my chin, my neck. "You feel so fucking good."

My eyes lilt, and I smile. I hum, and the part of him he's letting me hold—his persistently hard and endlessly insisting cock—throbs inside me. He pushes deeper, making my whole body arch and curve and take.

"You," I half-whisper, half-whimper, lost in perfect, gratefully-aching adoration. I dig my heels in the backs of his legs and try to open wider and feel him deeper. "You feel so good. You belong here. You belong right here," I tell him between little breaths.

It makes him moan.

It makes him harder.

It makes him move us, so that he's on his back and I'm above, straddling, gasping sharply high little cries because this new angle makes me take him deeper.

I'm stunned, stuck-still and weak, and I don't know how to do this, but love handles me. He lifts and lowers me, and helps me take him further inside.

"Always," Edward whispers with his left hand in my hair, cradling the back of my neck. He keeps my face close while his right hand holds my hip, guiding my body along his. "Right here."

He helps me ride. He makes me accept him absolutely. He shows me how we need to move, and I feel it. He shows me I need it too. "Right here, Bliss," he whispers between shallow breaths and kisses like promises. "Forever."

.

.

.

This time when I wake, everything is way, way too bright. All I know is that being awake hurts my eyes even with my lids closed tightly.

I bury my face in the bend of love's left arm.

My body aches. My thighs, and the place between them, radiates soreness so strong I can hear it with my pulse. My heart beats memories of full loving with breaking down and terrible burning.

"_Why did I just watch you throw everything good in your life away?"_

Trying to keep the cry sound that comes up to myself, I press my lips so tightly closed they pinch. And it doesn't work anyway. Love hears my hurt.

Love knows.

Wrapping both arms around me under the blankets, Edward brings me all the way near, as near as we can be without my parting and his pushing. I'm too sore. I'm tender to the lightest touch and too swollen to hold him. Curling up stings, but I can't help it. There's a need in me that's stronger than everything else to curve as small and as closely as I can against him.

I don't cry so much as leak. Crying requires strength, and I'm drained.

Night has finally left us. Daylight covers our bed, and my body won't let us ignore the world anymore. At some point, we'll have to get out of these desire-twisted blankets. _And what happens then?_

Edward kisses my forehead. He moves hair back from my face and tries to run his fingers through it but they get stuck-stopped in what feel like a million tangles.

Through my depleted leaking, I laugh. It sounds ridiculous, but it's earnest. On top of fearful nerves, physical pain, and still-so-open heart-wounds, I probably look as wrecked as I feel. Trouble can't even move his fingers through my hair, and my eyelids are probably red and puffy from so much crying. Yesterday's makeup may or may not be everywhere, and I'm scared to look and see if there's blood on the sheets, or my legs, or him.

My consciousness circles and churns. Truth, I wish I'd never ever let out echoes in my ears, piling arduous, useless regret on top of everything else. Fuller, heavier tears leak.

"_You're a loser, and you're never going to stop hurting me."_

I'm scared.

And I'm sorry.

But I'm not.

_I'm so fucking stuck._

Tilting his head to bring our faces closer together, love takes my cries away with his thumbs. I blink, but I can't bring much into focus. Serrated qualms and soul convergence make seeing straight more than difficult.

The only person I know in a hundred miles doesn't speak, but he doesn't have to. His proximity and breathing are enough to begin calming my own. It doesn't solve anything or cure this sense-consuming condition, but it certainly soothes the symptoms.

Sleep seeks me, and I am weak for it.

I should check my phone. I should open communication with him and with everyone. There are things I want to say and ask, but all I think is _just a little bit more._

_Just one more hour._

_Just a few more minutes._

Touch-memories and confessions thrown like stones swirl and blur with thoughts of how good it feels to sleep next to my so-weary soul. To feel him sleeping next to me, calmer than he's been in longer than I can remember, is such a welcome comfort to my heart, even if it is for only an hour or two at a time. I missed him. I missed him more than any words I know can justify.

Cuddling closer still, immersing myself completely in his solid-strong, so-warm presence, I nuzzle my nose back and forth over his Adam's apple. As I do, scruffy hair on his chin brushes my forehead. The sensation turns my smile up. I blink, tilting my head back a little to look at him.

His eyes are closed and his features are all relaxed. He's close to sleep or maybe _just_ inside it, and he never looks as peaceful as he does in this moment. His tired eyelids lay in beautiful surrender and his nose isn't a reminder of his selfishness. It's just a perfectly shaped bit of cartilage that takes air to lungs I love and helps keep him breathing, and alive, and here. With me.

But what draws my attention is the dark-blonde-just-barely-bronze-like-his-hair stubble all across his chin and jaw. It's longer than stubble, actually, and softer looking. I'm still smiling, but my tears are back because all I can think is that somewhere along the line - _somewhere in the midst of all of this_ - Dusty started shaving, and I totally missed it. And now, it looks like he's gone weeks without caring to. It's probably been weeks since he's cared about anything but keeping himself gone, and _her_.

My cries come up stronger. I'm quiet, but I can't control my sorrow or my moodiness. I take my hand from where I've tucked it between our chests and gently, with all the care that I have in me, touch my fingers to his cheek.

The lightly copper-colored scruff there is even softer than it looks, and I know, _I know_ how long he's gone not only without shaving, but without food or sleep or love, and my heart splinters a thousand little wide-open cracks, splitting with want to give, and help, and save.

Love hears me, again.

Love knows, again.

Wrapping one arm more firmly around me, Edward collects my right hand in his left and settles my palm on his cheek. He rests his fingers atop my own and curves his thumb to hold me gently in place.

I think he hums.

I know he breathes.

My mind is spinning. My heart is susceptible. I'm yearning and scared, lost and blinded in love. I can feel everything about our world changing, and I know without a word, with this simple, slightest touch, _I know_ he feels it too.

.

.

.

My cheeks are pink like I've never seen them. Not darker or brighter than blushing, just different. Softer. Literally lighter. Like I'm sunrise-lit from deep within.

I look away from the mirror, down into the sink. I lick my lips and they tingle, like they're carrying echoes of breaths and whispers and so many love-unlocked sounds.

I lean against the bathroom counter, peeking back up at the mirror.

I slept until Edward woke me a little after eleven this morning. I hadn't felt him go, but his weight returning to the bed stirred me from rest so deep it felt like drunk sleep. He had my phone in his hand, and his black eyes looked as dream-laden as I felt.

"Your parents think you stayed with my sister, right?" he asked, settling back into our blankets, gathering me close to solid beats and so-right body warmth.

I nodded. I nestled. I loved.

_I love. So fucking deeply, I love._

I closed my eyes to morning light that hurt. I wanted more sleep.

Edward brushed crazy tangles back from my face, gently tilting my head too. He passed my phone from his hand to mine and turned me, so that his chest and stomach were along my back.

"Tell them you'll be home this afternoon." He kissed the top of my ear, and behind it. He kissed my tangles and brushed his thumb back and forth over my hand that held my phone.

I swallowed. I wanted to ask what he meant, what all of this means, what we're doing. I wanted to ask if he was coming with me, because _how could I live without him now? _But I bit back my questions to keep from opening the flood gates any wider.

In the bathroom now, I blink slowly.

The mirror in front of me is fogged around the edges from the so-long, almost too-hot shower we took. We showered together, half because I couldn't stand or walk on my own at first, and half because neither of us was willing to separate yet.

I look closer, past my surroundings, at myself.

My pupils are wide, deep-set contrasts to blue that shines blue-er and green that glows greener. My eyes sparkle shadows and swallow light at the same time, and my lids look gently fuller around them. I know some of the swelling is from my all my crying, but this is different. I look like me and I feel like me, but... _new._

_But not new, just... _

_Not the same...?_

_More than the same._

_I look like..._

_Lush._

_Like teeming and glowing and brand new pink._

I smile. I can't even help it.

Edward didn't give me the chance to speak my hesitations after he told me to contact my parents. I should have known. I felt it when he brought my hand to his cheek and when he was inside me. I was sure of it all through the night. _Why should today be any different? _

He may always be leaving, but this, everything here, this didn't just affect me. This broke us both all the way down. It reconstructed us and rebound our stitches ten times tighter than before. His returning with me was a given from the start. We're not here to run away. He brought me here to see how far we could go, and you can't get much further than the bottom of the ocean.

I finger-comb through my towel-dried hair and study my reflection.

I look young and heartful and noticeably alive. My lips are deep-kiss bitten. They're cherry red and and still tingling. My curves are more curved and my bones hum. All my muscles ache, and I'm wearing so many of love's marks, but they're for only his eyes and mine. Hidden under thick white terry cloth, my hips and thighs are supple-blue-turning-violet with sensitive impressions of his abandon. And between...

My new-pink cheeks blush pinker. I lick my lips and lower my lashes. I feel hot blood vessels open like blossoms under the surface of my neck and chest as I remember looking between my legs just minutes ago. _Touching, feeling pink-turned-light-red flesh. Swelled-full and burning-warm and so, so so sore..._

He did this.

We did.

I feel naturally florid when I look up again. I look like a flourish. I look the way the word galore feels. I feel uncultivated beautiful, like pure, organic allure.

And strong.

I feel like truth and fulfillment have sturdied my backbone with strength I didn't have at any point before this, and it's a good thing, because when I open the door and step out of the bathroom, daytime has painted everything in bright, unforgiving light.

The writing desk at the far end of the room remains overturned and broken. Edward's iPod pieces are still all over the carpet in another corner, and I only see one of my shoes. The remnants of his life away still litter the coffee table, and our bed looks like a natural disaster. Everything's sort of startlingly, unnervingly real, and when he turns to face me, love is tucking his affair into his right front pocket.

He sniffs.

He can't help it. _She_ made him.

While I was admiring all the ways our affection changed me, Edward was spreading his slut and getting off just a few feet away.

I press my tingling lips together and flex my fists at my sides. He looks at me and I look at him. He's dressed in the same slim black denim as yesterday and a white Imaginary Cities tee-shirt, and I don't know what to do. _What can I do? _

I allowed this.

I requested this.

I should get down on my knees and say fucking thank you for giving me the _exact_ thing I asked for when I knew without a doubt nothing was going to change, and I surrendered anyway.

_How long did I actually think he could wait?_

Edward watches me with curious, blow-black eyes and a stubborn stance. I can practically see _her_ in his posture. He smiles arrogantly, and I want to break his fucking nose.

Inside, there's a part of me that wants to cry, but I walk instead.

Slowly.

My legs burn with every step. My thighs throb and resent me, and I try not to let it show as I cross from the bathroom toward the coffee table. On the back of one of the two chairs there is my dress. It's the one thing in the room that isn't where it fell yesterday.

"It's torn," Edward tells me. My back is to him, but I know without looking that his smug half-simper is in place. "The strap is ripped."

I pick my dress up for a second, inspecting the damage. He's right. I drop tattered white back to the chair with Ben's hoodie and roll my eyes with a slow, so-needed exhale.

_Of course it is_, I think. _You tore it, just like you tear everything._

But again, I just walk.

Every step smarts, all the way up as I circle the bed, searching for my unders. I find my other shoe and Edward's notebook, and an empty cigarette pack. I find his shirt from yesterday and what looks like a days-old coffee stain on the floor near the side of the bed he slept on. I find a phone charger, but no unders.

Behind me, still across the room, Edward lights up. I turn toward the sound of flicker and flame. "So buy me a new one," I snip while he breathes sweet-smelling smoke toward the ceiling.

_He's spending our forever money anyway, so what difference does it make? I can explain a new dress easier than I can a torn one._

Dusty's smile grows a little. The bitch in his eyes glints. I want to deck them both, but I catch light pink lace-cotton in the corner of my eye.

I take a few careful steps to my left and try not to let my aching show. I don't want to give him the satisfaction, but as I crouch to grab my unders and stand to pull them up under my towel, I can't contain my pain. I wince and hiss, and bite down curse words.

Edward doesn't say anything, but I know he notices.

I crack open dresser drawers to find perks of being a sinner with money that he's obviously not worried about taking with us. I pull a pair of his navy basketball shorts up my legs and one of his white undershirts over my head. The fact that they're boy clothes on my brand-new-girl skin doesn't bother me. I keep and guard my lushness, and feel it from inside myself.

I gather my shoes and my purse, and leave my dress. Edward grabs only his phone and his notebook, and Ben's hoodie.

We don't speak another word on our way downstairs, but he measures his stride so that we walk together.

Love is hardhearted walking beside me, matching my hindered little steps.

And when we get outside, love is taking his hand when he offers.

I can help it; I just don't want to.

.

.

.

We could have walked to Anthropologie because it's only a few blocks from the hotel, but Edward drove. My legs are thankful, and so is my embittered heart.

The store is fairly empty save for a few shoppers and the two associates. I notice them eying us, but I don't pay them much mind. My boy and I are near to one another, and that's more than enough to concentrate on.

I'm looking through dresses, and he's watching from a few feet away. I can feel his eyes, behind his pitch dark Wayfarers, burning up my back.

I smile high and wide to myself, pushing sun dresses along a rack, not really giving them any attention. I'm not facing greedy love, but I'm enjoying every second of his focus. I noticed the subtle differences in my appearance earlier, in the bathroom mirror. I had chalked them up to effects of what I was feeling inside, but here, outside that room and in the world, I know now that he sees them, too.

I feel his regard and I know they're visible.

Stepping around a rack of pastel printed culottes, I make my way to a rounder of rompers and pinafores. I pretend to browse, but secretly, really, I delight.

I've seen and felt love and longing in Dusty's looks for years, but there's newness here. His instinct and possessiveness haven't left or lessened; they've grown in fact, and they're accompanied by this very subtle, very boyishly-masculine sort of reverence now.

I steal a glance over my shoulder.

Love's attention is shameless. I hold contact through his black lenses as I smile.

I look toward the dressing rooms. He looks in the same direction.

I glance to the exit. His focus follows.

I could step in any direction and I know he would come along.

I literally have _sway._

Turning and making my way to the next rack, I'm aware of my pulse in my palms and fingers. My boy's consideration and close-keeping footsteps make it flutter.

I want him so much closer.

With confidence outweighing my coke-caused discontent, I look through a few more dresses and grab the first one I find in my size. I head toward the fitting rooms with my monster in tow.

The female attendant holds her hand out for the dress as I approach, and I pass it to her with a courteous smile.

"How are you doing today?" she asks. There's something like unease or hesitance under her tone. She glances over her shoulder as she leads the way to a hall of little rooms.

"I'm well, thank you." I nod politely and wait a few steps back as she unlocks a door for me. We're not touching, but Edward is less than a foot behind me. I feel him.

"Okay, well, my name is Heidi. If you need a different size or anything at all, just let me know."

I nod once more as she opens the door and steps aside to let me in. As I tuck air-dryed and therefore loosely-curled hair behind my ear, I go to enter the dressing room with my left hand on the door to close it behind me, but I'm not alone. Love has his left hand on the door too and his right on the small of my back.

I laugh as he comes with me into the small area. "What are you doing?"

We both glance at Heidi, and Edward shoots her a smile before he closes the door.

The fitting room isn't too cramped, but there isn't a ton of space either. There's a little built-into-the-wall bench behind us and a full-length mirror to my left. I'm still laughing when he locks the door behind him.

"What?" he asks, obviously uninnocent.

"This is a girl's dressing room, y'know." I look up. My heart flutters higher. "The boys' are on the other side of the store."

Edward just smiles deeper. His lips part and I see his teeth. I feel his look. I feel him, seeing me, and it feels so good.

"Go ahead." He nods behind me, toward where Heidi hung my dress.

As he leans his weight against the wall, onto his right shoulder, I turn toward white summer-light cotton printed with pinkish-red roselets. While pulling his shirt over my head and untying the drawstring of his shorts from my hips, I glance at him, behind me in the mirror. He keeps his sunglasses on and his hands in his pockets, and grins like he knows the tiniest little secret.

"What?" I ask him now, stepping carefully out of his shorts, trying to ignore the stinging discomfort in my legs.

Tall, dark and derelict slips his hands from his pockets and steps to me. He tugs the dress free, letting the hanger fall to the floor while he brings brand new fabric over my head.

I lift my arms, pushing them through the small cap-sleeves and pull my hair out from the back of the low-cut collar. As he guides the dress down my sides, he brushes his fingers not so gently over my bruised hips, and brings me back against him.

His grip kind of hurts, but more thrills.

I hum through pressed-closed-still-sort-of-tingling-lips, and look down at his hands on me, over floral print.

"You think everyone doesn't know?" His voice is quiet and his words are warm along the top of my ear. His lips are hot and his nearness is all-surrounding. His palms feel so strong and his arms flex control. I close my eyes and rest my hands on top of his. I bask in possession.

"You think everyone doesn't see your smile, baby Bliss?" he asks, brushing his thumbs over the same place he started touching me last night. Low, low, low on my belly, right above where I'm so sore, right on top of ten million tightly-tingling little knots, he strokes circle shapes. "The way you move... You think you can hide what your body knows now?"

I breathe.

I blink.

I peek up at our reflection from under my lashes.

My lids are low over brighter blue and greener green. My kiss-bitten lips are parted, and Edward's face is turned into my hair, where he's whispering. I can see the sharp-sly corner of his smile though. I can see the curve of certainty.

"You can shower." He kisses the shell of my ear. "You can put on new clothes." He kisses the side of my head. "You can take the smallest little steps," he whispers, flattening both of his hands out along the bottom of my butterfly-filled belly. I bite my bottom lip to keep my smile subtle.

"But I still see," he tells me with more kisses along my ear. "My sex is all over you, B."

The sound I don't let up echoes in my chest and my knees shake. I grip addicted hands and lean into tried and true muscle.

He hums. He steadies me. He's hard against the small of my back.

"You still feel me, don't you?" The lilt in his whisper is rhetorical, but I nod anyway.

"Yes," I tell him almost silently.

Brushing my hair aside, he glides his parted lips against the side of my neck. He breathes from me.

"Here?" he asks, pressing his right palm more firmly to my tummy, calling and cradling all of my tingles with his touch.

I nod quicker. I grip tighter. My knees threaten buckling.

"Yes," I whisper, eyes closed, fast on my way to so-gladly lost.

"And here?" He slides his left hand lower, barely brushing the tips of his fingers between my legs, through dress fabric.

I nod almost frantically. "Yes," I confess, rubbing his fingers like I want him to rub me, slow and deep and with everything.

Love's chuckle is all breath, all beautiful, irresistible pride, melting hot down the side of my neck. The sound of his laugh drips.

"And here?" He slides his right hand up my stomach, over pink-red roses and up between my rising-and-falling breasts, on top of my wild-beating heart. He holds me by my strongest muscle and my most delicate place, and I'm so secure in his arms. I'm not even sure my feet are touching the floor anymore. I feel like I'm floating in pure fervor.

"Is there anywhere you can't feel me?" he asks, dauntless and provocative and so fucking sure.

He knows, and I know he knows, and I can't deny his effect. I can't deny any of what I feel, but knowing makes me bold. Knowing gives me stock and pluck to stand on.

Shifting in his hold, I turn our tables. I rock to my tiptoes. I balance myself with my left hand on his shoulder and nudge his sunglasses up with my right.

Edward blinks tightly a few times, adjusting to the light. His pupils are dope-devoured. The fluorescence looks like it hurts, but I want this. I need to see him this way.

"Is there anywhere you can't feel me?" I ask, watching all-onyx soften around the edges. I think it's strange, that black can do that. That it can become mellow and sweet. That it can ease and almost sort of glow. That it can glimmer trust and adoration and assurance this warmly.

"No," Edward whispers, shaking his head, giving me truth I already know.

It makes my butterflies sigh and my heart sing.

I smile, shy in the presence of soul-seeing, and he bends down and kisses me, open and deep and loving.

But he's still hard.

And I still want.

And when he tilts my head back a little, and I open more to kiss him deeper, he picks me up with his other arm, and presses me to the mirror.

Glass is so cool on my back. My jaw drops. My body aches and needs and circles helplessly. He sniffs as he looks at me, and I don't have it in me to care. I'm so caught up.

"You'd let me, wouldn't you?" he asks, stepping closer, covering every inch of my body with his. My body slides against the mirror and he kisses the side of my parted lips between whispers. "You'd let me fuck you. Right here. Just like this."

They're not questions. Not even a little bit.

I wrap my legs tighter around his waist. I grip his too-long hair. I lift my hips and welcome with so much increasing want, the push I know he'll give me.

He does. He presses hardness against my sensitive center through his tight denim and my not-yet-bought dress. I swallow a sound from so deep it hurts my chest.

I blink. I push back at him. I pull his hair harder and grip his neck so tightly he grits his teeth and groans.

"You'd let _me_," I murmur, forehead to forehead, rocking with him, riding solid, searing need. "You'd let me fuck _you_ right here." I barely whisper it, but I can't believe the words until they're on my lips. "Just like this, just like this..."

Edward grins and it's stupid gorgeous. I barely have a second to register the sight of it before he thrusts against me so hard, I can't stop the cry that comes out.

Covering my mouth quickly, he laughs. It sounds like gravel and light, rolling around together in the bottom of his throat.

"Yeah," he tells me, kissing my jaw, holding and handling me so easily. "I would."

He gives me all of his weight and then some, grinding himself heavily, wonderfully, assuringly between my grieving thighs. I moan louder under his hand, and he laughs softer. He nips kisses with his teeth over the bend of my neck as he slows, just pressing. Just keeping himself pressed all the way against me, so hard.

I arch.

I contend.

I try to bend.

I think I'm going to fucking split, but I don't care. I just want him so badly.

"I would," he says again, taking none of his weight away, pushing and digging so hard against me my tears swell and slip.

_I want._

_I want._

_I want._

"But," he whispers, giving me one more unrestrained push, "you'd get us caught."

I all but scream behind his hand. I shake like crazy and I see countless tiny little stars around the edges of my vision. And, in the back of my mind, his point is proven.

Love knows.

Love leaves us both burning everywhere inside, but cares enough to push down on my legs, help me stand on my own, and buy me a new dress instead of getting the cops called.

Love gives me his hand to hold, his arm to lean on, and his sunglasses to hide my shy lust-lit eyes behind, even though we're both more than aware.

Everyone knows.

.

.

.

Minutes later, we're alone in the Lincoln. The windows are down and the sun is high. It's just half past two in the afternoon. I'm aching and wanting in a brand new, slightly rumpled dress, and we're on the road back toward our families and friends.

Back to sneaking and not touching.

Back to lies and secrets and barely surviving.

Back to finish the summer and start another year of school. My senior year. And then...

_And then what?_

I flip the radio on low as Edward switches lanes. Most stations are static and the few that aren't are all sports and news. My boy lights the joint he didn't finish in the hotel room, and I pop the glove compartment in search of music to fill the void of questions I still don't want to ask.

There are a few CDs inside I haven't seen or heard since he first got the car. I take out the stack and thumb through Best Coast, Stone Temple Pilots, Frank Ocean and others. I stop when I get to The Black Keys and slip _Attack and Release_ in to play. Slow guitars and a single laden-heavy drum beat start around us.

"_Ain't it just like dyin'?" _the song goes. _"Except you can still feel the same?"_

I look over to find Edward smiling. He drags from the joint and keeps his left hand on the wheel. He drapes his right arm along the back of the bench seat, opening and inviting.

"_All hands on deck now, the sea is getting rough again."_

I slide across and sit in the middle spot so that the sides of our legs touch, and I relax back a little, comforted by the simple connection.

Each time he smokes with his right hand, his arm curves around my shoulders and smooshes me close to his chest, making me giggle and play-push and soar in love. We merge onto the freeway and he kisses the top of my head, easing my hesitancy and stealing his shades back as we head toward the sun.

"_I'll be your blackbird, darlin', hangin' on your telephone wire," _the singer promises as we pick up speed.

"_Flap my wings on it, and set your heart afire."_

.

.

.

Four tracks later, halfway between "Psychotic Girl" and "Lies", the joint is out and we're relatively relaxed.

My body is already feeling what a long drive it's going to be, though. Love's presence next to me alleviates my mental and emotional nervousness, but my thighs hurt and the unsmooth vibrations of passing miles aren't helping. Trying to find a more comfortable position, I start to cross my legs without thinking.

It's a mistake that makes me wince out loud.

"Baby," Edward murmurs, shifting in his seat, glancing from the road to my legs. He turns a little more toward me, placing his hand on top of my own on the inside of my left thigh. He moves my hand so that he can rub and squeeze and soothe the sore muscles with bigger, warmer, stronger fingers.

I close my eyes and breathe out slowly.

His palm calms and allays. His touch works the sting right out. When the burning eases, he switches to my other leg, and when that fire is nearly gone, he shifts again.

"Come here," he tells me gently. His eyes stay on the road and his right hand guides me toward his lap. "Come up here, baby."

I glance at the highway and hesitate for about half a second before rising carefully to my knees. "Are you sure?" I ask, lifting and stretching my right leg over his hips, ducking my head as I move so he can still see ahead of us. "This is okay?"

"Mhmm." Love shifts with me. Keeping his left hand on the wheel, he wraps his right arm around my waist and helps me settle down against him.

Parting to fit him causes the backs of my eyelids to glow red. Fires he just put out in my thighs rekindle. I hide my face in the bend of his neck and breathe through the burning.

We smell the same, like hotel soap and the joint he just finished, like new clothes and vintage love.

It hurts a little, riding this way, but it's so much better than the dull ache that comes with sitting next to him. This position stretches tendons and tortures my muscles, but it's pain that is so welcome. It's discomfort that I know and understand and crave.

I rest my head on his shoulder. I yawn. I nestle closer, soothed by the feel of his heart and lungs at work against mine, while July sunlight warms my back. Summer wind blankets us both, and when the CD runs out of songs to play, we're okay in the quiet. The sounds of passing cars and the running engine are simple-pleasant comforts.

Edward tilts his face toward mine every now and then. Not to whisper or kiss, just to brush his cheek against the top of my head.

I feel high on him, on us. I feel tipsy-spinning in the swirl of red beats and new pink, soft black eyes and moonlit movements my body can still feel. I feel bundled and buoyant and so wholly beloved.

Echoes and unforgettable images spin in slow motion with so many so-sensual memories. Rest tempts my consciousness, and love's lungs work in a steadily calming rhythm against my chest while I remember seeing him for the first time in so long.

Sparrows flew over our heads and my mom's willow tree branches surrounded us both. He was sky-high, too thin and so pale. His posture was contrite, even though his words were anything but. My boy was irredemption walking.

His eyes though, his fit-for-a-funeral eyes held love he couldn't help.

_For me._

I brush my fingers back and forth over the double-stitched collar of his tee-shirt. I think about not asking, but I do, so quietly:

"What would you have done if I hadn't come with you?"

I watch Edward's Adam's apple move under his skin as he swallows my words. He shrugs, pressing his lips together for a second before he answers.

"I don't know," he says. "Probably try to make you regret it."

I let the words sink into my heart and mind. I rub my pointer fingertip along white stitching, over his more-prominent-than-when-he-left collarbones. I know these things, the answer he just gave and the one I'm about to ask for, but I need to hear them. My spirit is dying to hear them.

"Did you miss me?" I ask in a self-consciously small voice.

Love doesn't miss a beat.

"Every minute," he whispers, circling his arm more securely around my middle, bringing me more near.

I press my nose to his neck and let my eyelids fall when he turns his head at an angle that can't feel good, just to kiss my temple. He rests his cheek on the top of my head and some seconds pass.

We breathe.

We whole-heart beat.

We brush small touches and bend gently closer.

Seconds stretch into minutes, and I know with every mile, we're closing the distance between who we really are and who we have to be for me.

Guilt needles my insides with spite, while fear drops my temperature and sadness stings the backs of my eyes. And under, around, and on top of it all, I know we're going to have to part. I'll have to go back to living with only half of my soul again, and just the thought makes my belly bottom out with so many worries.

_All the hiding and lying and deflecting I'll have to do..._

_And is he going to leave me again?_

_How long do I even have him for this time?_

_What if none of this makes any difference?_

_He can't leave again._

_I won't survive him leaving again._

I feel like I did early this morning, when panic filled and surrounded me as he started to pull away. I feel a kind of scared I can't get my head around. I know it's irrational with my brain, but it puts a tightness in my chest. It gives me heart palpitations and breathing tremors. It makes my palms clammy and puts darkness around the edges of my vision that I know isn't real, but have to blink away anyway. It makes me feel sick in my stomach and overwhelmingly afraid.

Love notices before I say a single word. He uncircles his arm from around me and takes hold of my hand in his, uncurling my fingers from his tee-shirt.

But my hand doesn't want to let go or stay open. As soon as he frees it from the material, I curl my fingers around his thumb like instinct. Like a reflex.

Part of me knows it's okay to cling. Part of me knows he loves it.

But, part of me is embarrassed to be so dependent. I close my eyes and burrow deeper into the bend of his neck as he brings my hand up.

"Will you come over tonight?" I ask as soon as I can speak. The words sort of rush out when the backs of my fingers brush his lips. "Will you come stay with me?"

Edward's legs shift under me. He nods. He kisses my closed-around-his hand.

"I will," he says, swallowing and shifting. His pulse picks up against my chest and his left arm, the one that's steering us, turns and adjusts things I can't see. His voice is low when he speaks again, just above whispering, but there's perseverance there and purpose I don't miss. "We'll make it work."

I nod with him. I feel like I'm slipping from panic to desperation, closer to hopelessness and raw, wide-open and fathomless need.

He kisses my wrist. He shifts gears.

I rock. I can't help it.

"Baby—" he starts, pulling free from my hand to still my hips, to stop me.

I kiss his neck. I use both hands to pull his tee-shirt collar out of the way so I can kiss more of his skin. I keep rocking. I don't even care that he's driving. There's nothing else in the world, just him. Just us. Just knowing we're supposed to be so much closer than this.

I can't make words, but I don't stop. I show him my so-urgent yearning with intentional rocking and unstoppable circles.

He sniffs and curses and shifts again. I feel him turn the wheel and kill the engine, and none of it is fast enough.

He grabs my hips and turns us both. Laying me across the seat, he comes down on top of me, pulling my unders away so hastily I know they tear. I feel his ambitious quickness, but it's still not quick enough.

I tug at his belt and his buttons. I push at his clothes as he nudges my legs open with his, and it's all so needful and immediate that it's a blur to my senses. Nothing clears or slows or fully calms until his body is pressed to mine with nothing else between us.

In the second before he moves, I hear the wind through our halfway rolled down windows. I feel the Continental rock around us as other cars rush past, and I catch Edward's black eyes, longing-lowered but open, and insatiable all over me.

He grips me tightly in the next second and drops his forehead to mine. Nose to nose, parted-beautiful pout right above my so-unclosed mouth, he starts to push and there's nothing I can do but cry out and _open, open, open._

Love stretches and brands and fulfills me.

Love makes me feel immensely, tremendously full.

Love inundates my heart and floods every one of my senses.

Love completes every painfully deficient part of me and consumes like fire.

I tilt my head and arch my back while love makes everything else go away.

I hold on to tensing shoulders and let my eyes close. Edward pushes the top of my dress down and digs his teeth into skin that covers bones that protect my strongest muscle.

He digs deep straight away and unflinchingly. He pulls us both all the way down to that space in me only he can reach, that tingling hot place we can only find together, this way.

I flicker and glow and follow without doubt. I rock and ride and fall with him.

I don't want to help it.

Love may be a burning building.

Love may be a sinking ship.

But I can't get warm enough.

And I like to feel how deep it goes.


	33. Portions for Foxes

**We do not own Twilight. Pumpkin spice and French vanilla have flavored this from day one.**

**All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer, Simone de Beauvoir, Death Cab for Cutie, and Blink 182.**

**TeamBella, mop-shopper and heart-stopper. BabyBlue, day-saver and dream-giver, I love you so, so, so much.**

**Rilo Kiley – Portions for Foxes: **_There's a pretty young thing in front of you, and she's real pretty, and she's real into you. And she's sleepin' inside you..._

_And the talking leads to touching. Then the touching leads to sex, and then there is no mystery left. And it's bad news. Baby, I'm bad news. It's bad news, and I don't blame you. I do the same thing; I get lonely too. Baby, you're bad news. My friends tell me to leave you, that you're bad news, bad news, bad news._

_I don't care. I like you. _

_Baby, you're bad news, and I don't care. I like you._

**Chapter Thirty One - B**

It was a few minutes after four when we turned onto my street.

I wasn't nervous about getting out of the Lincoln at my house. I had prepared myself for the number of questions Mom was going to ask. She would want to know when Edward got back and why he was driving me home instead of Alice. She would wonder why I left my car home in the first place.

But, she was at the garden expo in Port Angeles with Mrs. Clearwater. Dad was home, but he was in the basement. I made it inside completely unseen, and they'll never know.

I lingered in the shower. I wanted a bath. I wanted my bed.

I could handle them, but I didn't want questions.

Putting on comfy sweats, a too-big tee-shirt and a relaxed face, I left my room to avoid all the possible _what's the matter_s, _are you feeling okay_s, and _how late were you up_s that would surely come with staying in it.

I took the stairs back down just as carefully as I'd taken them up, but my pace hardly mattered. Even after so long in the shower, every part of me ached with the physical memory of my soul's weight . My muscles still tingled and stung. My eyelids burned. Teeth-cuts on my chest and bruise-marks on my hips and legs throbbed heat in dull hums, and between my spread-weak thighs, inside, I yearned. I cried. My body was swelled and sore from allowing love.

With every step, breath and beat, I still felt him. I wanted him . My body was resentful and suffering through physical separation.

_How are we ever supposed to be apart at all, now that we know?_

_How are we supposed to live every day, not bared and deep and pressed together?_

Dad's on the phone in the kitchen talking to Grampa when I come in. He's sitting at the table with paint in his hair and on his shirt. He smiles, but I don't miss his eyes kind of questioning my baggy afternoon pajamas.

I force accuracy and awareness into every movement, every look, every thought.

Not only am I exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally, I'm shaken, through and through. I'm past ready for rest and so hungry.

Edward stopped for food when my stomach growled about half an hour outside of Forks. I was starving, but I hadn't been able to finish the tacos he bought me. I was too wound. Too caught up.

Grabbing them from the fridge, I take the foil wrapped food with my phone and a bottle of water into the living room. With a glance over my shoulder to the kitchen where my father is still on the phone, I place my stuff on the end table and turn the television on.

Slowly and so cautiously, I sit down onto the couch.

My legs burn. Between them whimpers and weeps. I grip the edge of the cushion tightly and bite my bottom lip through so many sharp little hurts.

When I'm finally able, I sit back and draw my knees up slow, slow, slowly to my chest.

I breathe. And breathe. And change the channel with the remote.

The time indicator glows in the corner. It's five after six.

I breathe. I press my hand over my chest. I steady slowly, just like time.

My phone buzzes on the side table.

It's six minutes after six. And it's Alice.

_I hate him_, her message reads. _I motherfucking hate him._

My stomach drops and twists. Edward and I have been back a little over two hours, and either he just walked in or she's just now texting me.

I start to type back, ready to ask what's going on when another message from her makes me pause.

_He's high as a fucking kite_, it says. _This is such bullshit._

I stare at the words on the screen. I don't know what to say. I feel sick inside. I braced myself for all of this, but I don't _want_ to lie, and everything I think of to say is one.

Three minutes drag by. I offer the one thing that's as close to honest as I can get.

_Want me to come over? Or come get you? Want to get out?_

Because being there for her, being present, I can do. Listening, holding her hand, turning the music up and rolling the windows down to let air in and frustration out, those aren't lies. I can be a sounding board. I can make her not alone.

But my girl doesn't want that.

She doesn't want me.

I know, because her next text, two minutes later, reads: _It's okay._

And I know.

I know she's either talking to Pete, or going to see him. Ally's lying best friend has been replaced with a lie of her own.

_It is what it is, _her next text says._ There's nothing we can do anyway_.

_._

_._

_._

Mom gets home a little before seven thirty. I smile. I'm cool.

I tell her about a night at the roller rink with Alice that never happened.

"We bumped right into each other," I laughed, like I was remembering. "I fell right on my ass."

"Bella!" She's too caught off guard by my word choice to consider questioning what I actually said.

I laugh a little more. It's exactly not, but it sounds so real.

Ignoring little stretches and burns, I unbend my legs and rest my feet in mom's lap. I cuddle-bury my white-socked toes against her stomach.

"It's fine," I tell her easily. "I'm fine."

.

.

.

I don't know what time it is when I wake, but I feel like he's early. Like I just came up from where I'd fallen asleep downstairs and woke two hours later with Gramma's quilt over me. I feel like I only just texted him, _the side door's unlocked_. I feel like I just barely closed my eyes.

I blink for focus and catch his hands leaving my door handle. I think maybe the sound of locking is what woke me.

Turning onto my back as Edward turns to face me, I push my blankets down and pull my sleep tank off. He comes to me clean-shaved and shower-new too, wearing black low-tops and black basketball shorts. He's lit gold by my night-light and noticeably higher than when I last saw him. His eyes are all black, and I feel like I can see his pulse.

But I need this person. His presence. His weight.

That pulse.

I've needed him for hours.

Love talks to me with his hands around my knees, wordlessly turning and pulling me to the side-edge of my bed. I listen with my fingers under his white tee-shirt, pushing it up and off. I talk to him with my sting-burning legs, curving around and pulling his body to mine. He lets me. He gives me his so warm, so alive, so right weight, and I could die at the contact. It sets my heart rushing. It's too good, too needed to bear silently.

I pull a deep breath before Dusty's palm covers my open mouth. I grip his sides. I dig my fingers in and I arch.

He presses me down with more of his weight.

I push up with my whole body.

He gives me more.

I push so desperately against muscle and bone and pulse that I shake.

Edward drops his forehead from mine and buries his face in my shoulder, groaning so lowly I push and cling and beg with everything I have. He pins my hips under his and presses himself to me so hard I tilt my head all the way back. I turn and twist under his hand, and plead with natural, helpless little circles.

_Please, please, please._

I want all of him. I want everything he is.

Granting enough space to move his free hand between us, he tugs my sleep shorts away. I push his down and we touch, and I bend, bend, bend.

My eyelids open wide, and I breathe hard through my nose while love presses and slides and parts my body to hold his.

I curve for him. I burn and circle and shake. I'm bare, scared, trembling-needy and lost in love. I'm pinned under undeniable love, and when he shifts, gripping my right leg just under my backside, making me open all the way, it's all I want in the world.

But, all the way isn't much, and I cry out behind his hand. I can't help it. I want him, but I feel softer, more tender to the touch than I ever have. He's not inside even slightly yet, but just being spread for him hurts.

Edward covers my mouth tighter and slows his pace. He tentatively takes his palm from my mouth and presses it into the bed above my shoulder. I pant the quietest deep breaths that I can

"Shhh." He shifts his hips. "Shhh," he whispers, lips to lips. "Shhh," he tells me, like a kiss.

I do.

I try.

I shhh and still, and will myself to be softly strong enough, and I feel him. I feel him sliding and pushing and trying too, and then he's there. He's right there, right where I need him, and it's too much. The pressure and hurt are impossible. Physically, literally... my body can't handle what love needs.

I cut a breath that tastes like blood and I shake my head as he angles his hips. I push at his shoulders and slide my heels along my sheets, trying to move. Edward slows down. He loves my skin with more shhhs and easy kisses. He tries to go so slowly, but I'm too swelled and sore to let him in.

I hold his face. "Stop, stop, stop," I whisper under his lips.

My boy freezes. His pulse is on fire and he's burning insistence and capability all around me, but he stops at my words. His eyes close, and he moans a drawn, aching sound and digs with both his hands. His right scrapes and fists bedding above my shoulder, and his left fingers grip the back of my leg tightly.

He needs me. He needs like I do, even though it hurts. Because it hurts.

"Let me," I tell him quietly, reaching between our hips.

I blink, trying to bring his face into focus. His eyes are clenched shut and his lips pout. His breathing is shallow and uneven at best. Love's gone from a found-look to lost-sounds.

"Shhh," I whisper now, touching him slowly, carefully with both hands.

His breath catches, and I feel his arms strain. I steady my left hand on his hip and my right around him. I love him with a single slow stroke, and when I reach his head, and rub him against where I can't open enough, his entire frame tenses.

He moans. I kiss him to cover the sound and wrap my left leg around his waist. I draw my hand back up and stroke him down to myself again, and it's not enough. It's not, but it feels so fucking good.

Barely holding his body above mine, Edward moves with my touch. He rocks against my hand and rubs against my softness, and I can feel when it's too much for him. When his arms and legs shake, and his rocking goes from smooth to instinctual, I struggle to press the sides of my knees into my bed, to open and accept.

"Love, love, love," I whisper, promise and beg, stroking, palming and sliding him between where I'm slick-soft, so susceptible, and so overwhelmingly full with only the head of him. "Love me, love, love, I love you, I love you..."

"Fuck," he pants. Airless. Falling. "Bliss, baby, baby..."

He comes hard and warm and everywhere. He comes inside me and all over, and he's breathing that he loves, he loves, he loves. He falls until he's found again, and I cling. And kiss. And return love with hums and whispers and soft touches. I hold on so tight while he push-slides against me so right, taking hold, and pulling me under with him.

.

.

.

Love is shirtless in his shorts, and I'm naked next to him. His head is on my chest, and my fingers are in his hair.

"He walked right by me." Edward's voice is warm on my skin.

"He didn't say anything?" I'm listening to him talk about his dad while he fills his heart with the sound of mine.

"No." He brushes his thumb back and forth over my belly button. His other arm is underneath and around, holding on. "He and Al are the same like that."

I know what he means. Ally's tongue gets sharp sometimes too, but not like Dusty's. Not like Esme's. Edward and his mother don't need to shout. Razor-words don't depend on volume. My best friend got her dad's temperament, though. There's no denying when they're pissed, but after that's made loudly clear, they walk. A turned back is the fuck-you of choice for Carlisle and his only daughter. I bet she walked right past the so-spun prodigal son, too.

I curl my fingers through so-long copper brown. Edward's shower-fresh and soft-faced, but his hair is still overgrown, _and having your parents disregard you has to hurt, but he fucking worked for it._

There's no surprise in his tone while he talks. He sounds like it went exactly how he thought it would, like he knew his return, like his sins, would be ignored.

Trouble sighs over my heart, and his breath covers today's earlier bruise-marks. It's crazy to think that hours ago we were in a different city. We were a hundred miles from this place, ripping each other apart, and no one but us has any idea. There is so much between us that only Edward and I will ever know.

I swallow it down, but the weight of everything I'm taking to my grave has grown exponentially over the last day or so.

"It doesn't matter," Edward says, taking his arm from under me and turning onto his back. His head rests level with mine and he bends his knees. He pats his shorts where there are no pockets, but he wouldn't smoke in here even if he had his pack. It's just a habit.

I turn onto my side, tucking my burning legs under where his are bent. He looks up at nothing in particular. Maybe just the ceiling. Maybe not. He's here, but he's not. He's in his head, and he's quiet.

I look. I stay. I keep this moment warm for when he comes back.

Some minutes pass.

Edward curves his left arm up and under his head. He draws his right fingertips over blue-purple on my hip that's the same shape as his thumb.

I don't wince. It doesn't hurt at all. His touch is so light it almost tickles. Almost.

Love draws a slow circle around his mark. He swallows before he speaks.

"I told them I'd check into Shoreline, Bella."

His words are almost silent and they instantly give me hope I don't want. I swallow too and push optimism that never learns, down, down, down.

In Shoreline, a medium-sized city just outside of Seattle, there's a rehabilitation center called TLC. I've heard Esme and Alice mention it, and I've researched it on my own. It looks more like a posh hotel than a treatment facility, but results are promised.

_Transition, motivation, stabilization – Intensive Phase I. _

_Relapse prevention, chemical dependency, development of a sober support network..._

_What the fuck are we going to do?_

My head spins. I don't move, but I'm dizzy with uncertainty and fear, and stupid, stupid hope.

_This is good_, I think. _This could be good. This should be good. But it could change so much. It's supposed to change so much._

Edward flattens his palm around my hip and sniffs, dragging his other hand down his face. He rests his fingers over his closed lips. He sniffs again, and out of all my aches, out of everything in me that stings and burns and yearns, in this moment, my heart feels it all the most.

I want this so much.

I want him clean, but his blue's been gone so long the thought of it feels unfamiliar and inaccessible. And say he does clean up, then what? Aside from _us_, I feel like Edward's given less thought to the future than even I have.

Curving closer, I move one arm under my boy's back like his was around me earlier. I drape my other arm over his chest and wrap around him, keeping him here.

We hold, and hold, and I try not to hope, but he started it.

And I really, really can't help it.

.

.

.

Three days later, sitting at my dressing table with _Codes and Keys_ turned way up, I'm tapping my feet to piano beats and dusting shimmer across my eyelids. Dad's at work and Mom's at the library with this women's book club she joined last week.

It's Thursday, a little after ten in the morning, and I'm waiting for Ally to call. She said she would.

_I could just go over anyway._

_But, maybe it's more of a family thing._

_But, I am family._

_But..._

Today's the day.

Carlisle has court every morning this week, but when he gets home, they're all making the three hour drive to Shoreline together.

I go back and forth with myself about going and waiting while I pull a periwinkle bubble skirt up my legs and a white tube top over my head, tugging it high to keep my marks covered. Instead of curls or straightening, I let my hair air-dry because the July heat is going to have its way with it regardless.

I rock to my tiptoes and rotate my ankles. It tingles a little, but the ache in my legs and in-between is almost all gone.

"Home, home is a fire," Gibbard sing-says as I cross from my closet to my open door. Tucking my phone in my back pocket, I leave the music playing_. _

"A burning reminder of where we belong, love..."

I saw Edward for a little while last night. He came over well after three in the morning. It was late, but he was wide awake, and much closer to bitter than nervous about today than I was. And am.

"It's not even ten miles from Seattle," he told me, pushing, like a threat. "You know that, right? You know how easy it would be—"

He cut himself off.

We were in the backseat of the Lincoln, pajamas and jeans with holes in the knees. Bare feet and heavy Etnies. Sleepy blue-green and restless black. Pressed palms and fingertip touches. Kisses. So many, so-chaste and unsteadily given forehead, cheek and chin kisses asking for any and every assurance.

"You know I can't take my phone?" he asked a few seconds later, slighted and sour-sounding as he brought me up to his lap, cupping my face in his too-warm hands. I watched his eyes go from my mine to my nose, to my lips, my hair, and come back to my eyes.

"I can't even take reading material that isn't _recovery related_." He bit the last two words and pressed his lips tightly together. He shook his head, but his hands remained.

I covered them with my own and leaned my face closer to his. "I know," I told him gently.

Edward scoffed. "Do you? It'll be a month at least," he went on, still shaking his head. "It's not like..." His frustration was tipping. His nerves and his habit had his moods flipping quickly.

"I can't take my fucking phone, Bella."

He mentioned it twice.

And it is going to be hard not being able to reach him. Knowing he can't reach me.

_But it's not like I don't know what a month without him feels like. And at least this way I'll know he's safe. I'll know she isn't within reach either._

"I know," I whispered, cupping his face too, wanting him to stop and look up. I needed his eyes on mine. I needed him to hear me. I brushed my thumbs along his cheeks, and dark brown stubble was rough under my palms. "I'm not going anywhere, Dusty. You'll never be without me. I swear."

He curved his fingers slowly around the back of my neck, gripping me tighter. He brought my face the smallest bit closer and the rest of my body followed.

"Can you do it?" he asked, searching my eyes as he brought our hips and stomachs together. He was hard, but he didn't press me down as much as closer, more near, completely against. He brought us exactly heart to heart and lowered his lashes. He licked his lips and his eyebrows wrinkled. "Can you live on nothing for that long?" he asked, low between hurt and nervous.

I didn't know what to say.

I didn't know if I could. I still don' t.

So, I borrowed words from him that had brought me comfort days before, because we had to try. We had to at least try.

"We'll make it work," I told him, wrapping myself tightly closer, even more near, most completely against. "I don't know how, but we will."

Edward swallowed and slid his hands down from my face. Holding me by my waist, he pressed my body to his, onto his hardness.

"I'm coming to get you," he said, tilting and kissing the side of my neck. "Before we go. I'm going to come get you."

Love tilted my mouth under his and kissed me deep, until that was that. There was no questioning his request. I didn't have a clue what I was going to say when I show up with him today, but I'll figure it out. For him, for us, for this, I'll try my hardest to make anything work.

In truth, it's the furthest concern from my mind. Tensions in Esme's Mercedeswill be high enough, and in reality, I grew up with Edward, too. I care about him, and if anyone needs more than that, I think well on my toes, anyway.

I have lived without him, differently, but I have. And I feel like this could be so good. I feel like... _this is important._

I'm willing to try.

Downstairs, there's a bowl of fresh red nectarines and anjou pears on the kitchen table. There are plums too, and strawberries from Mom's garden.

I grab organic powdered sugar from the cabinet and two of the strawberries. I dip them one at a time, right into the bag. I think about my boy, crunching ice in his mom's kitchen almost a year ago, black-eyed and spiteful, and back home after killing me for two days over Kills tickets. I count broken desk chairs and think about his rebuilt how-many-times room. I think about the made-new basement below my bare feet, and about years of effortful marriage, and _how do you do that? How does it work?_

_How do you not let love consume you whole?_

Grabbing and dipping another strawberry, I think about calling Alice and just telling her I'm coming over now. That way, he won't have to come get me. I'll already _be_ there, just like I should be. I'll be there for my best friend and I'll be there for love, and I won't have to _explain_ anything.

I set the bag down and head toward the stairs because that's where my shoes and purse are, still in my room. I don't make it ten steps before I hear trouble's low rumble, hours before I expect him.

My heart flutters doubles. My stomach dips and does flips for the unknown. I listen for the horn or my phone as I step back to the kitchen, sealing the powdered sugar and putting it away. Hearing neither, I grab my keys from the post near the stairs and turn to get my things.

I'm one step up when knuckles tap the other side of the front door.

My heart flutters in triple.

_What if my parents were here? Their cars aren't, but they could be in the garage—_

Edward is reckless when he's anxious. He's one-tracked. I should probably be more wary of his inconstancy, but it's so him. And I sort of crave it. I kind of love it, _and what kind of future does that lay plans for?_

Keys in my left hand, I set the strawberry between my front teeth and open the door.

True love stands tall in brown cut-offs and a faded black Used tee-shirt from when he was sixteen. He starts with cut-short hair, new aviators and a clean shave, and ends with old, stepped-into low-tops, sockless and untied. He's showered-fresh and coke-straight, and he open-mouth laughs as soon as he sees me.

Remembering the strawberry between my teeth, I roll my eyes and bite down. I toss the green top outside, away from the porch while Edward quiets to a smile.

"Hi," he says, pressing his hands into the door frame on either side of me. He leans down and has to bend his knees a little because he's a good five or six inches taller than me when my feet are flat.

"Hi." I smile back, tiptoeing up.

"Hi," he says again, leaning his weight into the frame as he kisses me. Just once. Lips barely parted. Slick pretending to be innocent.

I lick my lips. I can taste my strawberry and his Crest, and it's too sweet.

"What are you doing here?" I ask curiously.

Edward nods behind me, toward the stairs, and steps inside, making me step back. "C'mon," he replies, cool and relaxed, leaving his shades on. "Go get your shoes."

I turn and start up the stairs, taking them in quick rhythm as he shuts the door and follows. I'm a few steps ahead, but I can feel him behind me. Energy, presence and proximity radiate.

"Where are we going?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder as we enter my room.

Edward picks nail polish up from my dressing table while I grab sandals. He reads the back of the light blue filled bottle and smiles.

I buckle my sandal and wiggle my _bluebonnet baby_ toes.

"Port Angeles," he says casually, setting the bottle back down.

My stomach goes from flipping to falling, because I know.

I should have known.

Maybe I did know all along, but it doesn't matter. Either way, whether I knew or not, we're not going to TLC with his family.

But we are going somewhere.

I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip while Edward picks up an eye shadow compact. He looks it over for a few seconds as I stand on one foot to buckle my other sandal, but it's difficult. My bearings are all off now.

I hop on my left foot, trying to keep steady, and I end up closer to him. The punk motherfucker, all frustrating and disappointing and so out of place in my day-lit, girlie-girl room, laughs. He brushes hair out of my eyes while I hold onto his arm for balance.

"What's in Port Angeles?" I ask, refusing to keep my resentment from my voice. I secure the tiny buckle around my ankle and stand on my own.

Edward laughs, handing me the sunglasses from my table. I glance up at him before I put them on top of my head and step away to grab my purse.

"Absolutely nothing," he says. He smiles, but there's sharpened edge in his tone.

I raise my eyebrow and even though I don't understand, I take his hand, because it doesn't matter. I told him I wasn't going anywhere. I told him he'd never have to be without me, and I meant it. Shoreline was his idea, and he knows it made us all feel hope we were scared of. He may not realize how much, but he knows it affected me, and I want to believe wherever we're heading instead will mean something too.

"Miles and miles," he continues as we take the stairs hand in hand. "Of bullshit, small town nothing."

_Then why are we going? _I want to demand. _Alice is going to be so mad when you're not home, and Esme—_

I close my eyes and bite back the thought.

I try to breathe through my frustration and be patient for him to just fucking talk to me already, but I'm so mad. I'm so angry at him for making us all think we had a chance in hell.

We get down to the front door and I stop walking when he opens it. He turns from the sunshine outside to face me, and I slip my hand from his.

_What? _I ask him with my look, so furiously hurt that I'm scared my voice might break if I try to actually speak. I open my eyes wider and cross my arms. _What the fuck are we doing?_

Cynicism curves the left side of his smile up. Edward doesn't have to lift his sunglasses for me to know he rolls his eyes. He steps to me and takes my hand back.

" Peninsula College," he says. "That's what's in Port Angeles."

Love gives my hand a little tug. It's a light touch, one I could easily resist, but I don't. I step willingly. I lock my parents' front door behind us and drop my shades, following him to the Lincoln where he opens my door first.

I reach over and open his as he walks around.

Inside, I'm racing with thoughts of what his absence is going to do to his mother and father, of how much more ground it's going to give Alice's hatefulness. I'm wrapped around my own hurt and worries about what this means for _us._ I'm torn as usual, between my conscience and my heart.

He starts the car and drapes his arm across the bench seat.

"What are you going to tell them?" I ask as he glances over his shoulder, backing out.

Edward pouts his bottom lip and shrugs unguiltily. "The truth," he says, like it's that easy. Like _what's the big deal?_ Like _what's so fucking wrong with the truth?_

I buckle my seat belt.

.

.

.

Almost an hour later, we've stopped for slushies, agreed to disagree on White Blood Cells versus Icky Thump, and taken two wrong turns. My boy laughs, but it's bent and sort of brackish, and it doesn't escape me that just because this isn't rehab, it's still nowhere near his first choice.

He's doing this for me. For us. He's staying here another year because he can't let me go that long, and I don't want him to.

And even if he had checked into treatment instead, who's to say that was going to last any longer than this? When I first realized we weren't going, I was crushed. It still kind of stings, but when the initial hurt wore off, I remembered that _everything with Edward is a risk._ Everything is vulnerable to his moods. He's staying. He's trying, _so why not let him do it his way?_

Thinking about the future in any capacity sets me on edge. It always does. My own. Alice's. Edward's. Ours. We can all make choices—we do every day—but there's so much we can't control. So much of what we choose is dependent on things other than our own wants and needs. And loving someone only increases those variables, because everything they want and need and choose affects you, too.

This is becoming more and more clear to me as my last high school summer passes. Alice wants me to go to California because that's what's right for her. My parents want me to go to UW because it's close and they want to keep me in range. And if Edward had his way, we'd leave right now. We'd drive right into the sun and never look back. Being together would be and is all that matters to him.

The only person taking any actual interest in what I want, in what's right and best for me, is Garrett.

"Have you thought about what to major in?" he asked a couple weeks ago, before Edward was back.

I shrugged.

"Well, what do you like? It's all up to you, y'know? That's part of what's so cool about it."

He's right.

_It is cool to think about what I want, what I like, what I could be..._

Across the middle seat, Edward takes my hand from my lap and brings it to his grin.

_Then_, I think, looking over at love as he kisses my left palm. _Then, there's reality._

And instead of thinking about lounging on the beach with Alice between folklore and ancient mythology, or getting lost for hours on end in French poetry in some far away library, I'm thinking about what I could be that would make the most money.

Because facts are facts.

Edward's inheritance was huge for an eighteen year old, but there's no way it's going to carry us forever. Not even close. _Especially with— _

I stop that thought.

I have no idea what he wants to do, and that in itself is stressful enough when I think about it. So, maybe this whole college-classes-for-a-year thing isn't just okay. Maybe it's good. Maybe it will open ideas neither of us has had yet. Maybe it could be a really good thing too, if he gives it a real chance.

I look over at Edward as he turns into Peninsula's campus. We spot the main office, and I unbuckle my belt as he parks. He cuts the engine off and leans back, rubbing his nose with the back of his left index finger.

He sniffs. He can't help it.

His smile is still half-there, but he looks unsteady.

While my optimism h as been growing, his anxiety's been increasing.

I turn to face him, bending my leg under me while he pats his pockets and takes his pack out. He taps it against his left palm, but cigarettes aren't what he wants, and I know it.

_She_'s in his other pocket. _She_'s calling him. _She_'s crying for his attention so loudly I want to tell her to suck _my_ dick.

I blow a breath out and look around the semi-crowded parking lot, weighing pros and cons silently.

If he doesn't use, he'll be twitchy and distracted, and so quick to flip both his middle fingers. And if he does use, he'll be detached, condescending, and all the more audacious.

I take another breath in slowly, hating how unable I am to make the decision. Both options are twisted fucking sick, but we can't change where we are now, and if I, sober, can't tell him which choice is better, how can I expect him, spun, to know what's right?

All I can do is be here.

All I can do is support him no matter what.

Edward's eyes are out the window while he continues packing his cigarettes. I smile softly, sincerely. This decision is his, and either way, so am I.

"I'm going to go inside and grab a number or a place in line, or something," I tell him, in love and loyal-hearted, willing to accept him in any condition as long as he's there for me to accept.

"I'll see you inside?" I ask gently. "Unless you want me to wait?"

"You're okay," Edward says, looking over and smiling tightly, like he wants to, but doing so pinches.

I lick my lips. I need chapstick. I need a drink. I need something for my nerves, too.

"Okay," I say softly. I move onto my knees and lean over to kiss his cheek before I get out.

.

.

.

Nine minutes, six _excuse me_'s, and one clipboard sign-in later, I'm sitting in a lobby with my legs crossed and my purse in the orange plastic chair next to me. I'm swinging my dangling foot a little nervously and unwrapping a roll of SweeTarts when one of the double glass doors to my right opens. I feel my heart before I see him. I turn, and the wind blows his tee-shirt against his skinny side. For a second the sun makes his skin shine.

Inside, Edward walks toward me, leering at skirts and ties as he passes. He doesn't lift his shades or unsmirk his lips for anything, and I know he used. I don't need to lift his sunglasses to prove it, but when he moves my purse and sits down next to me, I reach for them anyway.

He lets me. He doesn't stop me anymore, but when I nudge his aviators to his forehead, his smirk tightens up. His jaw tenses a little and his eyes narrow.

Black.

Black.

Black.

I don't look away. I remind myself that either choice he'd have made would have been hard. I keep my eyes open and let his pierce because he's here. He didn't bail, and that's fucking small, but it's something.

It's not really okay, but what is?

I take Edward's hand and curve my lips around sorely impossible wishes.

"We're number twenty-three," I tell him, recrossing my legs and resting the side of my foot against his calf.

"What number are they on?" he asks in turn, low-toned and turning slightly, stretching his legs out. Our contact holds and even increases a little while Edward brushes his thumb over the top of my hand.

"Fifteen," I say with a shaky breath in, hoping so hard the wait isn't long.

Edward just laughs, mostly breath underneath more breath. He nods. He checks out the room and the people around us.

"Okay," he says easily, not letting go of my hand.

.

.

.

It's been a little more than twenty minutes, but you'd think we've been sitting in these cheap plastic chairs for hours.

The secretary lady just called number twenty one, and my crooked love is ready to walk. His left heel tap, tap, taps on the tiles. He keeps shifting in his seat, and he hasn't put my hand down. He's tracing my knuckles, my cuticles, and the lengths of my fingers like maps, but his touch is absentminded. His dark eyes dart and wander, and his breathing is anything but a pattern.

_But we're so close_.

"Hey," I whisper, covering his skin-and-bone-blueprint-tracing fingers with my own.

Edward tilts his head toward me to listen, but he faces forward. His eyes don't focus and his heel doesn't stop.

I trace his knuckles like he did mine while he rearranges our fingers, interlacing them together. Him, over me, over him. I lean in so I can whisper. I lean so close my nose and lips brush his arm.

Love smells like Tide and vanilla and warm, warm summertime.

"Do you remember when I didn't know you were in the bathroom, and I opened the door?" I ask quietly.

His fingers trace and his heel taps, but he turns his head. He gives me his ear, but I need more. I need him to really hear me. I need him here.

"You pulled me in with you, remember?"

The corner o f his smile twitches and I know he's remembering setting me on the counter and touching my knees. I know he's remembering stepping between them and tugging at my dress, feeling my legs and telling me to stay away from the most harmless boy ever.

"I knew then," I tell him quietly, holding his hands, listening for his heart. "I didn't understand, but I loved how it felt to be with you. I wanted that. I wanted more..."

I pause with a quick breath in as Edward moves his hand with both of mine to where my right leg is bent over my left. He presses between and I open, letting him cover the top of my knee before I cross my leg over his hand.

His heel keeps tapping, but he shifts, leaning a little further back in his chair.

I breathe out against his sleeve and back in with him. "I didn't know what to do with my hands," I whisper, "but I wanted you..."

Edward sits up, nudging my right leg from my left. I play it off, and he squeezes my knee, and I know I'm playing with fire. I know it, but I need his focus here. I need him to not walk away.

"Twenty-two," the secretary calls, prompting a mother and daughter to our left to stand and shuffle.

I only have his profile, but I see love's nostrils flare and his jaw tick. He swallows, and breathes through his nose. His eyes close and his left heel has stopped tapping.

My left knee though, under his grip, has started.

.

.

.

Seven minutes later, we were called back.

Mr. Hughes, the counselor person for matriculating students with last names from A to E, keyed in paperwork Edward filled out, printed some more paperwork out for him, and sent us down the hall, to a computer lab.

Edward's focus is misplaced though. He's got his hands in my hair and his eyes on my legs. We're sitting down in front of this computer, enrolling him in school, making choices, and he's not paying a stitch of attention to his future.

Not that I blame him. I don't. I want to ditch all this serious business for his backseat just as badly as he does, but here we are. He just wants to play ball for a year, but he has to take classes in order to do that. He chose this. We're here. We have to try.

_How will we ever know if we don't try?_

"Look," I tell him quietly, moving the mouse over all the different entry level classes.

He doesn't. He stays slouched back in his chair and doesn't look up from where his fingers are curling 'round and 'round my summer-blonde ends.

I swallow, turning to face him. "This is important, Edward," I say, pointing to the screen when he finally looks up. "What do you want to do?"

He smiles, half-sly half-careless. He scans the screen for a second, but his eyes are all mine.

"Be with you," he says, lifting my hand from the mouse and kissing the open bend of my arm.

My heart flip, flip, flutters and the precious-soft place between my legs feels no pain. None. Just need. Just want. Just now.

I push him away with a huff. I seek composure. We just have to get this done. "English?" I suggest, looking back at the computer, trying to ignore my pulse.

"Fine," he whispers, leaning in and kissing my neck. His voice is soft and his lips are softer, and he knows. Love always knows. Love _is_ knowing.

I click on English Composition 101 and scroll down the page, kind of looking, tilting my head just the littlest bit so he can kiss higher. I blink slowly. My heart beats.

"Be serious," I say quietly.

Edward places another kiss just below my earlobe. I feel him smile. I hear him breathe in as his lips curve up right before he asks:

"Marry me?"

My pulse, pulse, pulsing heart swells like a scream in my chest. I try to swallow but I can't close my mouth because _what? _

_Edward can't even keep his shit together long enough to enroll in school, and he's somehow going to last an entire engagement? A ceremony? A marriage?_

_And like this? This is how he asks me?_

Love tries to turn my chair to face him. I don't want to freak out, but I _am_ freaking out. Against logic and everything experience has taught, my swelled-full heart longs and feels like it blooms. How unsound and irrational the idea of marrying him is pales in comparison to how much I want i t.

_My ring on his finger._

_His last name next to my first._

_Him, promising, vowing, holding and kissing me in front of our _families_ and friends. _

_For everyone to know and not laugh, or judge, or fight... but to just be there in_ _joyful support._

_To look up at Edward, blue-eyed and forever-swearing himself to me. _

_Only me._

Black eyes and so many lies squeeze my bloom-like-heart. I feel it writhe, because _we can't. _

_How can we? _

_I can't fucking do this right now._

It's everything that I can do just to force my lips together, swallow hard, and push Edward away. I roll my eyes and make a scoff sound like he's beyond crazy, because he is, and start reading the first thing I see.

"Statistics? You'll need that if you want to transfer to a -"

"Sure," he interrupts, shaking his head, looking down at our feet, and I know. I've lost him. "Pick whatever. I'll take whatever you choose."

.

.

.

I have no idea how we made it through the rest of enrollment. The next thing I know, we're in the back of the Lincoln pulling at belt loops and pushing at light blue bubble-cotton.

We're burning up, and I can't stop playing with fire.

"Ask me again," I tell him, bone-shaken and breath-stolen, pulse-throbbing and desperately out of control. We haven't been able to be together since we've been back. I've been so sore. My body hasn't allowed us, but here and now, yearning consumes. Necessity urges. Love pleads, and needs, and requires too deeply to be denied.

Edward leans up from where he's above me and takes my top with him. He creases his eyebrows, confused looking while daylight coming through the windows makes him squint.

I return him to me, keeping him close where no one can see us. I kiss his lips, and he opens, kissing me hard, and so sincerely deep it almost hurts.

Arching, I press and slide myself along his half-unbuttoned fly. I pull at his belt, greedy like a flame for him.

"Ask me again," I whisper once more against his lips, holding his face while our semi-undressed hips rock together.

My half-undone boy squeezes his eyes closed. He breathes through his nose like it hurts and grips at the seat, the door, and my arms to steady himself. He looks like struggling, like drowning.

"I want you so much," he says lowly and painfully, stripped and straining like he's admitting, confessing. "I've always fucking wanted you, Bliss."

He settles our bodies together, pressed and firm and completely covering. "Always, always, always," he whispers against my cheek, kiss, kiss, kissing his way to my neck.

I wrap my arms and legs, and glow so hot I think I could die under this touch. I want this so much. I want him forever.

"Ask me," I demand almost silently, kissing his flushed-pink cheek, his creased-up forehead, his cut-short-again hair.

Edward moans into the bend of my shoulder and lifts his weight long enough for our hands to work together. I hold his arms and part my legs wider for him as he slides and slides, and soaks, and soaks, and finally presses himself against me. I find his low-hooded eyes and fasten mine to soul-baring black as he brings his right hand to my face. Sort of cupping my jaw, he places his thumb in the corner of my parted lips, making my mouth open, open, open to give him the sound he covets most as he pushes into me.

Love burns just like fire: inescapably, and inevitably. Our half-heart carrying bodies are its natural habitat, and unity that devours is its proper fate. We are nothing if not grateful, devoted and wholly impassioned kindling.

"Marry me," Edward whispers from inside. His voice is scratchy-soft in his throat, so like smoke as he starts to move. He doesn't lift. He just rocks, deeper and deeper.

I blink. I breathe. I lift.

I grip. I open more. I need more.

It hurts so much. It feels so good. It's dark and hot and deep, and red, red, red.

"Marry me," he says again, shifting his hand from my jaw to the back of my neck, tilting my head, using his hold for leverage as he pulls back just to drop his hips harder.

I close my eyes and call his name.

I bend my back and raise my hips, gripping his neck and shoulders so tightly he hisses. But I don't let go. I clench my fingertips in, and doing so gives me what I want. It makes him fuck me.

Too hard.

Too fast.

Never, ever enough.

We fuck until we're red-cheeked and sweating. Until I'm trembling and his hand is over my mouth because I'm screaming. Until I know someone, somewhere _has_ to know what's going on and has surely called security by now, but I don't care. I don't. I can't even. There's nothing in the world but how right this feels.

"Give me your hand," Edward pants, kiss-bitten lips hot against mine as he moves his palm away. He rests his heavy forehead on my own while he digs, and digs, and digs for home.

I blink and breathe quick, too-small breaths, moving with him. I bring my shaking hands up from his sides and hold his face.

He shakes his head though. He closes his eyes and tight little frustration lines crease together between his eyebrows. "Give me your life, B," he whispers, digging and reaching and finally finding.

Flickers tingle and tighten in my stomach. My fingers and toes all curl, and there isn't a single part of me that doesn't glimmer and throb and rush with my pulse.

Love feels. Love knows.

Love is home.

"Marry me," he prays, nestling so deeply, pressing and rubbing and losing himself all the way inside. "Give me your heart, Bliss. Give me your soft, precious little heart, baby..."

Too much.

Too much.

It's not enough, but it's too fucking much.

"Marry me," he asks again, killing me with forehead and temple kisses while I come apart underneath him. Around him. For him.

I can't answer, but he doesn't stop.

"Give me your soul," love whispers, over and over and over. "Marry me."

.

.

.

Just like Edward expected, Peninsula classes were a passable replacement for rehabilitation. Esme accepts her son's choice with more wine and new prescriptions, while Carlisle endures by spending more time at the office. They don't like it, but they allow it.

Their daughter, as usual, is a different story. Alice does not accept, nor does she pretend to for anyone, even for a minute.

"Cocaine," she says, declaratively disgusted and loud, loud enough that I know her brother hears her down the hall. "Seriously?" she says even louder, her volume increasing with caustic sarcasm as she sifts through mail on her desk.

It's August eleventh and a few minutes after noon. The air conditioning is set on on fucking freezing, but we're in swimsuits under shorts and long sleeves. She's wearing a fluorescent green zip hoodie and has her purple-pink-sea foam green hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. The bite marks over my heart are faded, but still visible. I had to buy a new bikini with a tank-style top to keep them hidden.

Sitting on her unmade bed, I tug my cardigan sleeves down around my hands and pull the two open sides together, over my chest while Ally tosses issues of Spin and AP to the floor. She drops all her other mail in fact, save for a large, cream-white envelope.

"Really ?" she squeaks, every bit as loud as she was just a moment ago, but excitement-filled now instead of frustration-edged.

The envelope she turns and tears open is stamped with a UCLA blue and gold emblem, and I know what's inside it. It's not thick enough to be an acceptance packet, but I know. I know they want her. While my best friend was doing my homework when I was constantly up too late, she was also slaughtering her own, and then some. My girl has scholarships coming to her like crazy.

Alice jumps up and squeals, laughing out loud while she reads the letter. Sure enough, it is a scholarship. They do want her. Of course they do. She'll get others too. For all of her decadent insanity, baby bright is brilliant.

"Oh, my fucking holy... fucking shit... yes!" She beams. She fist-pumps with the letter in her right hand, and shimmy dances her pride and joy like a neon maniac.

I laugh with her. I smile and clap, and love her, and really, truly am happy for her.

I am.

"It's not nearly enough," she says, looking over the letter again, "but, it's a start."

I'm thrilled for her. I am, but I know what comes next.

"Have you filled out your applications yet?" she asks, sitting down at her computer, clicking and searching, and clicking some more. "If you apply to all of them, we can just choose one together."

I press my lips together and pick her Rolling Stone up off the floor.

"Not yet," I say, lying back on her bed, holding the magazine above me.

"Baby," she starts impatiently, turning around to face me.

"I will," I tell her before she can finish. "I haven't yet, but I will. I promise."

Not a lie.

I will.

I'll fill out applications to huge west coast universities for her, but I'll do so knowing I won't get in, and knowing further that even if I do, I'll never be able to afford it. My grades aren't bad by any means, but they're not Alice's. I haven't pushed myself like she has, not for school.

I let my mind wander to the boy down the hall, and I cross my legs just to feel the sting.

Love is finding comfort in love-made soreness. Love is assurance in a so-familiar ache.

Love is still feeling him, two days later.

"Okay, but like, soon," Al says, still looking at me. Seriousness has sharpened her glad voice. "Like, the sooner the better," she continues. "Like, c'mon, let's do it right now."

I roll my eyes. I laugh.

I do not want to do this.

"I thought we were going to the beach," I remind her as I sit up, hiding every tiny little hurt that comes with doing so, knowing already I'm not getting out of what she wants.

"The beach can wait, princess kid. This is our future."

_No, this is your future._

I bite my tongue.

"Are you..." Alice starts to ask something, then stops mid-question and gets up from her chair.

"What?" I ask, confused and crinkle-eyed, and more than slightly anxious as she walks toward me.

Then, she's reaching, tugging my cardigan open and pushing my swim tank down.

Panic replaces all my blood.

"No!"

I flip out. I push at her and pull at my clothes, wincing through all the stings that struggling with my best friend brings.

_No. No. No._

_No._

My girl laughs. I'm on my back with every defense I have all the way up, fighting frantically to cover the marks over my heart, and she's laughing.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Ally asks above me, jaw dropped, cracking up, fierce.

I have my hands on hers and I'm trying so hard to stop her prying, and keep her away from my bruises, but she's wiry and wriggly, and stronger than me. Like it's nothing, Alice tugs her right hand free from mine and pokes her pointer finger right into the bruise on my chest.

Hard.

Like, spitefully fucking hard.

"Alice!" I scream, louder than she did earlier. I push her off me and sit up, pulling both sides of my sweater all the way together, wishing I could wrap it completely around my whole self. I wish I had a hood I could pull up. I wish I could curl into a ball.

I'm shaken and anxious-scared, and _what the fuck?_

Al sits up too, still laughing. It's a real laugh, but there's bitterness underneath it. It's in her blues when she looks me over, studying me.

"You dirty, secret-keeping little freak," says one to talk, tugging the edge of my cardigan over my shoulder like she's looking for others.

I pull away. My mark throbs and burns. I feel violated.

Alice shakes her head. "Are there more?" she asks, incredulous. "Are you fucking Garrett?"

I laugh loudly.

"No," I say, swinging my legs over the side of her bed, trying to focus on that hurt instead. I rub my bite-bruise through sweater-soft cotton in an effort to soothe the hurt out. "No." I say it again and shake my head, _like Garrett would ever touch me with his teeth, in a million years. Like he's even capable of such a mark._

"It's okay," Alice tells me, her tone softer, even maybe a little bit apologetic. "You can tell me," she says. "I won't be mad."

She's so much like her brother sometimes it's outrageous.

"I'm not," I assure her. My legs scream as I stand up, but I don't let it show. I guess I should be thankful we're not talking about the future anymore, but now I just want to go home. I want to run down the hall, crawl under his blankets, hide in his arms and sink into love's pitch dark, so hot heartbeat.

_Home, home, home_, my pulse drums, loud and demanding in my ears. I breathe to calm it, but it only half-works, just like I expect it to. It won't settle until I'm home again, and I know it.

"You really can tell me, Bliss," Ally insists. She's behind me and I can't see her face, but her tone is even more genuine now. I know she means it, and that's what makes it so fucked up. There's so much she's not telling me that she really could too.

"The truth shall set you free," she offers with an audible smile.

I snort. My mark still hurts, and I swallow the urge to turn around and say _out with it then. Tell me you're blowing your brother's best friend and have been for how long now?_

I stand instead and lean into love's burn.

"Truth," I say. "I am so not fucking Garrett.

Not a lie.

Alice smiles. "Okay," she replies easily, standing up too. "Good," she continues. I raise a brow while she grabs her sunnies and steps into her Vans without socks. She grabs my hand. "You're my girl today. No boys."

I smile. I mean it. I'm relieved and I'm glad.

Then she kisses my cheek, giggling under her breath.

"Don't make me mark you too, baby Bliss."

.

.

.

The last three weeks of summer pass a lot like that day.

Alice and I don't talk about what my heart marks meant or what they made her think and feel, but her finding them shows in our friendship. It's in her wanting to hang out one on one more than before. It's her hand in my back pocket when we walk side by side on the beach, and her foot hooked around my ankle when we sit on her mom's living room floor. She tells me she loves me more often and reminds me I can tell her anything. She's a mix of possessive protection, constant curiosity, half-honesty, and attachment.

She wants me to talk, but never presses when I hold back, and I know it's because she's keeping a secret too. It's this really weird mix her wanting to know I'm loved, and simple resentment, and I can't blame her. There's almost nothing I know better than that combination. The other half of my heart makes me feel the exact same way.

He's still here. He's dark eyed and he goes out a lot, but he hasn't left since we returned from Seattle.

We're every bit as much a secret as we ever were, but it's… different. The pull has existed for as long as I can remember, but I lean into it more often now, most of the time without even thinking. Our work used to be in finding ways to steal looks and touches, but I gravitate _with_ love now. I feel love wholly, and that's come to mean less trying to sneak, and more being constantly careful not to reach for my soul every time he's near.

As August stretches out, we see one another when we can. I work on summer assignments in the meanwhile and talk to Mom about the books she's reading. I sun my days in La Push with my girls, and fill out every application she sends me, but there are places that definitely feel more like _me_ to me than anywhere she's shown me in California.

Whitworth in Spokane.

Saint Martin's in Lacey.

Northwest in Kirkland.

Miles from fucking, I sat with Garrett last Tuesday at his mom's kitchen table, laptops side by side, eating fruit roll-ups while he helped me look and find places I might like, programs that drew my interest.

"You don't have to know yet," he said when I told him I had absolutely no clue what I wanted to do. "It's okay," he shrugged and smiled. "It's okay not to know."

The paint streaks on his black cut-offs were ocean-blue and new-grass-green. His smile was calm and unpresuming, and his tone was as truly patient as ever.

"You can go in undecided. Maybe just start with what feels right to any part of you and go from there."

So, I did. We did.

We took virtual tours of a few different schools and in narrowing it down, I realized I liked smaller, closer-knit campuses and the thought of classes that were more discussion-based than lecture-driven. I liked that these same, smaller, private colleges also offered more grants and tuition negotiation. And Northwest is so, so pretty.

It's also close enough that Edward could come, and we could figure things out much easier than we could in California.

Mom was excited when I told her about it. She wants to make plans for a visit in a few weeks. I wasn't lying when I told her I'd like that.

I have yet to tell Alice any of this.

Pushing tops and dresses around in my closet, I tap my bare foot on my carpet. I've been trying stuff on and not finding anything I want for almost an hour. Fat curlers are in my hair and hard at heated-work, and I'm still standing here in black lace and dark maroon demi-cups.

I breathe out.

Letting alone everything after graduation, the coming school year itself has me more than kind of uncertain feeling. I start my senior year the day after tomorrow, and it's going to be so different with the boys gone. They're still here now; nothing's over yet, but Ben is leaving for UW next week. Pete's spending all his days working with Easy, in his car shop on the edge of town, and my boy's going to be driving to and from Port Angeles on the daily. I don't know what Vic and Mixie are going to do, and while their absence is more than welcome, it's also going to be... strange.

Kim and Charlotte will still be there, though. Rose and Leah, and my secret-keeping best girl. Garrett will be there. It will just be so different with no locker notes or stolen white milk, no hooligans with their hoods up in the hallways, no punks watching my back, and I can't help but wonder if everyone else feels it, too.

I breathe in, pushing more clothes around, frustrated with everything I own.

In not even two days, the beginning of our end is going to start bright and early, but here and now, I'm stuck on tonight.

It's Saturday afternoon, August thirtieth, and it's Carlisle's birthday.

Esme is going all out as usual. She's having Le Fou Frog catered in, and the back yard is going to be filled with their friends, minus my parents, who aren't going because Gramma and Grampa are here for the weekend.

Mom's letting me out for the night on the condition I'm home for breakfast Sunday morning, which is Mom-speak for _I'd really like it if you were here tonight_. She didn't actually say that though; so, we'll see.

I sigh. I wish I was getting ready with Alice. I texted her this morning, but I haven't heard from her all day. For as much as she hates her brother's habit-black eyes, she apparently doesn't mind his best friend's.

I shift my weight on my feet and bite my pointer fingernail. _You don't know that,_ I think. _You don't know that's where she is. And if she is, so what? Maybe she's good for Petey. Maybe he's stronger than Edward. Maybe he's actually willing to quit for his girl._

This brings no comfort.

It's all so messed up. Everything about everything is ridiculously convoluted and so, so, so not fair.

Stepping away from my closet, I grab my phone.

_This world's an ugly place_, I type out and send to Edward.

I sit down at my vanity and stretch my legs out, wiggling my bare toes against the carpet. I'm brushing powder across my cheeks when my phone vibrates.

_But you're so beautiful to me._

It doesn't change the world, or any part of anything really, but it does make me smile, and that helps.

My phone vibrates again on my way back to my closet.

_You should come over_, his text says.

And it doesn't matter that it's still hours before the party, or that I don't know what to wear, or that my girl hasn't called and invited me yet.

Love says I should, so I do.

.

.

.

The catering van is parked across the street and there are two other cars parked in front of the house. Esme's and Carlisle's cars are in the garage, and Ally's Jeep is nowhere to be seen.

I pull in where no one will question, right next to the Lincoln.

I smooth down my honey and sunshine plaid dress as I get out, pushing my curls back with one hand and carrying Carlisle's card in the other.

_Petrified about turning forty-five? _the front reads.

_Relax, _the inside finishes_. You're not a fossil yet!_

It's a few minutes after four, and the end of August is warm, but it's sort of cloudy. The breeze blows through my dress while my little black ankle boots click, click, click across the driveway. The porch swing tightens my chest as I step, step, step, but I swallow. I breathe. I've become a professional-expert-virtuoso-wizard-Jedi Master of just breathing.

Exhaling steadily, I turn the handle and the door's unlocked, just as I expected it to be. I don't hesitate to open it.

The Cullen house smells like warm bread and fresh flowers. Esme's walking by with two kind of, sort of big gift boxes when I step inside.

"Hi, sweetheart," she says, stopping and smiling a smile that could melt ice caps. It curves my own up effortlessly. "Alice isn't home yet, but Edward's around here somewhere. Want to help me with these?"

"Sure." I tuck Carlisle's card into my purse and take the box on top. I follow Esme through the living room and kitchen, and out the back door.

Lantern lights that don't yet glow hang from the awning and around the gazebo. We set the boxes on one crisp-white linen covered table, and there's another table with hors d'oeuvres, and another of wines, some chilling, some not. White folding chairs line up here and there, and there's another smaller table where Esme tells me the cake will go.

I smile. _Smooshed chocolate birthday cake. _

_Where's my best friend?_

_How in the world did we get here?_

"That's good," I tell her. "Everything looks really amazing."

"Thank you, Bliss," she says, one-armed hugging me and kissing my forehead while she opens the patio door to let us back in.

"I need to help finish setting up and go get ready. You know this house is your home." She opens her hand toward the kitchen and gives me a wink before heading back to the living room.

I don't see anything heavy left to be carried or moved anywhere. So, Edward is probably in his room.

I take my time peeking through the kitchen on my way. There are no dirty dishes or any paperwork piled up. It's spotless-perfect, just like it used to be, just like before.

There are, however, a few small boxes on the counter next to the sink, and I know there's candy in them. Pretty sure everyone else is in the backyard, I'm opening one of the boxes and reaching for a dark chocolate nonpareil when I feel him.

I know he's close. I've always known, but it's stronger now. More than just my heart, my entire body, from my fingertips to my toes, senses his proximity.

Smiling to myself, I reach in and take a tiny-pretty piece of chocolate. I stand still. I let my presence make him come to me.

Enclosing trouble doesn't lift his heels as he walks. He takes his time across the tiles. His steps sound like an at-ease siege.

I turn on instinct. Leaving my hands on the counter behind me and my lower back leaned against it, I face him. And when I do, I'm so glad I did. Lawlessness on long legs looks so good in a plain white tee and dark slim denim.

With each unhurried step, Edward's nearness draws mine. His eyes are lightless, but they're zeroed in. I'm all he sees, and his focus grips like I know his pocketed hands want to. His regard is all over me, and his look is just like his kiss. Dark. Spreading. Territorial.

Dirty.

My heart tickles and my legs tingle. My lips curl just a little, but I keep most of my cool.

Edward half-smirks, half-purses his lips. He stalks with a saunter and slowly closes our distance with a sense of certainty and pride that even Ares couldn't get away with. And I know. I know I'm in too deep. I know it. Just this boy's walk lays knowing-better out, and sweet-fucks it with every unrushed step.

I lick my so-ready-to-smile lips as I look up. "Hi, swag," I tease, meeting his black with confidence that matches his own.

He laughs a little. His Adam's apple shows the air it takes, and his lips curve into a full grin. For as different as so much feels, he's the same as he's ever been when he looks at me, all disorder and daring, all barely buried craving. He's still trouble. He's still too wrapped up and bound to stay away.

My hoodless-hoodlum smiles higher, playfully lowering his lashes over shameless, undernourished and needful black as he stops close to me, tilting his head down over mine.

"Hi, sway," he says quietly.

I smile sky-high. I maybe giggle, just like a kid.

Love can't even help it.

.

.

.

Hours later, we're all on Edward's floor, sore-cheeked, low-lidded and smoke-surrounded. We can't stop laughing for anything.

To my left, Dusty's sitting against the foot of his bed with his head leaned against his mattress, lazy-laid-back grin easily and not insincerely in place. He looks good. He sounds good. He smells good, but I don't let my senses pull me too close.

Semi-across from me, Pete has the blunt. He's cracking up so hard he has to pause the story he's telling every few seconds because he can't not laugh. To my right, Ben's laughing twice as hard and blushing even harder. He's falling over and covering his open-mouth, whole body amusement with both hands.

I'm in my spot between my boy's nightstand and bed, cracking up, too. I can't help it, Pete's embarrassing Benny something crazy, and it feels so good to laugh like this.

Things are different here too now. Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber are taller. Their voices are deeper. Their mischief is dirtier and their eyes are darker. Not as dark as Edward's; they may not have used today, or in a few days even, but _she's_ in them. Just like she is in him. Pete's keeping secrets now, and _who knows?_ Maybe even Ben is. We're not the same, but we're still us, and we're here. We're together, and it feels so good to be here, just like we used to be.

Except not.

There's another difference in the room, and it shouldn't bother me. It shouldn't make me feel awkward or out of place, because this has always been my place, but it does. And I don't understand why, but it feels like an even more complicated change than any of the others.

Across from me, next to Pete and holding the bottle of rum we're all sharing, Alice laughs too, and it's so fucking weird.

She's my best friend. Her presence should never be weird, but it really, really is.

Petey puff-puffs and passes Ben the blunt. Ally pull-pulls and passes the bottle to her brother.

I hadn't been here very long, maybe half an hour or so before the boys showed up. We'd already smoked one blunt between the four of us, and were downstairs dipping into Esme's fridge and pantry when we heard the front door open.

Alice stepped inside with sweat on her forehead and her board under her arm. Her purple ponytail was wind-tangled and her baby blues looked heavily thoughtful.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, looking right at me. Not mad. Not bad. Just confused.

Peanut butter in one hand and a spoon in my other, I shrugged. "I was bored. Where have you been?"

"Just riding," she said easily, also shrugging.

Maybe it was the pot, maybe not, but everything felt really awkward.

For about two seconds.

Ben opened the fridge behind me then, and tossed my girl a can of beer. She caught it with both hands. And just like that, the tension broke.

"I'm going to go shower." She smiled, wiping her forehead with the back of her forearm as she turned toward the stairs.

I giggled. Not because anything was super funny, but because she was taking her beer with her to shower. Pushing the peanut butter and my spoon into Pete's hands, I took off to follow pink wheels and sweat-tangled purple.

"I'm coming too!" I called.

And it was fine. We were fine. We were good, as good as we could be anyway.

But this...

"Wait, wait, wait," Alice says, holding her hand up, looking at her brother and Pete. "Remember that Saturday when we were having breakfast, and Ben called at like eight o'clock in the morning to tell you he got his first pube?"

All of my friends laugh harder.

I do too, even though I wasn't there for that. Even though my girl is making this kind of, sort of, not so comfortable for me I laugh too, because that's what we do when people are watching. We go with the flow.

And because I'm high.

It's hard not to laugh at just about everything when you're _princess-pie-in-the-sky high_, as Ben said earlier.

So I do. Even though with every second, deep down, I wish she'd go to sleep and let me have this, I laugh and I breathe, and I'm me. I'm Alice's best-friend-Bliss in the one place I've never really had to be.

And even though I shouldn't, even though it's not her fault, with every second I resent her a little bit more for it.

I want to help it, and I can't.

.

.

.

My unease doesn't finally let all the way go until it's almost four in the morning and I'm wrapped in love's arms.

The boys all went out for a little while, but when Edward came back, I left his sister passed out in her bed for a cream-soda float and his open right hand. Next to us in the grass now, the float goes untouched, but we do not.

Stars light us and the early morning breeze kisses my skin while our arms circle, and our heavy heads lean - mine back against his chest and his on my crown. I hear early birds waking and calling good morning to one another. I smell rain.

We don't speak, not about the doubt and disappointment that hardened his black when I mentioned Northwestern earlier, before his friends showed, and not about how crazy I felt having his sister in our bubble. We don't talk about the future, or the past, or the ever intricately and impossibly more-fucked-up-by-the-day present. We don't fill the precious little time we have with unworthy words.

We just lean.

We just hold.

We just love.

I start to drift just as the sky starts to glow. Edward presses a kiss to my temple, and I know we have to go soon. I know, but I nestle back into him anyway, all smoke and vanilla, and a heartbeat that's so like home I want to tuck myself into it.

"I have to be back at my house by breakfast," I tell him, rubbing my nose over the left of his chest, letting fabric softener, clean cotton, and his pulse tickle my senses.

My boy nods, wrapping his arms a little tighter. He kisses the top of my head and I don't want to go.

"Grits and granola, and veggie bacon await me." I make a grossed out sound against his chest, wrapping my arms over his, holding him holding me. "Who the fuck eats veggie bacon?"

Edward's sternum vibrates with his laugh. I love it. He kisses the top of my head again, and I close my eyes.

Just a few more minutes.

Just a little bit more.

"Take some chocolate cake with you," he says.

I giggle over his heart.

_Bad choices_, I think to myself.

For as twisted as everything is, for as much as so much has changed, some things never do.

The important things never do.


	34. Skinny Love

**We do not own ****Twilight.**** We do own this, though. Or it owns us. **

**Sarah, you are literally the best type of inspiration. **

**LovelyBrutal is our beta girl. **

**So, Dusty is wrapping up and we're officially in the final chapters. To every single person who is devoted to our story, and to everyone who has given us worthy feedback, good and constructive—****thank you! **

**It's going to be one hell of a ride. Trust. **

**Birdy – Skinny Love (Bon Iver cover): **_Come on skinny love, just last the year__**. **__Pour a little salt, we were never , my, my, my, my, my, my, my__**. **__Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer._

_I tell my love to wreck it all, cut out all the ropes and let me fall. My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my. Right at the moment this order's tall. _

**Chapter 32 – DUSTY**

"Shhh," she whispers with her finger pressed to her kissed-too-hard lips.

"There's no one here," I remind her.

Baby steps back—once, twice, three times—before turning and walking toward the front door of my house. Her heels tap on wet porch wood; she takes her shoes off and waits for me on the doormat with bare feet. Soft yellow from the porch light above her shines though Bella's maybe-pulled-too-hard hair. Her curls are loose and rear-seat-flattened. Her cheeks are fucked-too-hard red. B's shirt is stretched out and unfitting. Her jeans are unbuttoned, showing the small hint of black fabric, and Bliss's so-fucking-in-love eyes beam anticipation.

"I know," she whispers, with her back against locked wood, facing me. "I don't want to disturb the fireflies."

"You weren't thinking about them before," I say into her ear, slipping the key into the lock.

Bliss turns the knob and leans back with the door, catching her footing right before she slips. She tiptoes into the house with her shoes dangling from her pointer and middle fingers on her right hand, as if we have to sneak around. As if the house isn't lightless, empty and void of its usual fill.

My pops has business in Los Angeles, so my mom went with him. And, this time, so did my little sister. She wants to check out the city and schools. She wants to taste the beginning of her so-called future.

"_Bet me,"_ Alice said two nights before. I sat on the edge of her bed and watched her pack._ "I'm going to live there one day, Dusty." "I'm going to walk those streets."_

I come up behind my girl and kiss the side of her throat. She smiles and curves into me, dropping her shoes beside the couch. I set my hands on her hips and push my already-hard-again cock against her bottom. Bella nibbles her lip and hums, tilting her neck for my mouth.

"We have all night?" she asks, whispering. White-chrome moonlight from split open drapes brightens half of her face.

I can taste my love from earlier on her skin, combined with salt from making her sweat. I know I'm still inside of her, drying between her thighs and on her underwear. I can smell it; she's a mixture of tea tree and sex. Bella wears my bite marks on the tops of her shoulders, over her rib bones, and on her ankles. I've kissed her purple and over-stretched her muscles and tissue.

She aches. I can tell by the way she walks.

It won't stop us, though.

"Yes," I say against her temple, leading her toward the staircase.

I slip my hands under her shirt and push the tips of my fingers into her low-toned sides. Bella places her hand on the rail and sucks in a breath.

"Can you?" I ask, moving my right palm over her soft stomach.

She nods and whispers, "Yeah."

I dip my hand into the front of her jeans and feel where I was not even an hour ago. She's hot and swollen and wet from my earlier come, like I knew she would be. She whines, tender and sore, but her mouth shapes up. We were together and connected, and this sensitive hurt is proof.

Isabella Bliss loves when she stings—when she can feel me long after we're done. When all she has to do is press her palm between her legs to feel our ache. When, even if I'm not with her, I'm still with her. All she has to do is push.

It takes us longer than it should to climb up the stairs. When we finally stumble into my room, I can feel my heart pulse in my dick ... and in my pocket.

_Love me first,_ my bitch haunts.

I pull off my hoodie and drop it to the floor before reaching for the hem on my girl's shirt and lifting. I lean in and kiss the dip between her collarbones. Bella drags her deep purple nails down my biceps. Baby bites my ear and hums while I reach back and unstrap her black B cup. Bliss turns away from me, pressing her bare back to my cotton covered chest.

She giggles.

_She doesn't love you like I do,_ Cocaine continues, deep in dark denim.

I lead my girl toward the bed—our safe place. She falls forward onto her hands and knees before crawling to the center of the mattress. I hook my hand into the waist of her jeans and pull until they get stuck on her thighs. Bella turns to her back and leans on her elbows, kicking her feet until her legs are free and skinny blues are over my shoulder, joining my sweater.

_Come on, baby. _

Topless in cotton underwear, Bella sits up and stretches toward me. Amid her open knees, baby smiles high while unbuckling metal from leather. My belt sings in her hands, jingling with every pull and tug. Undone, my girl goes for my button, easily opening me up with the flick of her fingers.

The zipper is next.

_Don't let her touch me,_ the demon in my pocket pleads.

I pull my hips away and push Bella back. I curve my hands under her thighs and pull her bottom to the end of the bed. I drop to my knees, trying to ignore my habit's desire, and kiss from baby's knee to her bitten ankle.

"I love you," I whisper against healing teeth marks.

Bella spreads her toes apart before bending them in; little toe joints turn white. I kiss them until they relax and baby is laughing, begging me to stop. "You're tickling me, Edward!" she says.

"Stay like this?" I stand to my feet and press my lips to her knee cap. "Don't move. Wait for me."

B stops laughing.

_She knows. You know she knows._

I slip my finger into the elastic of her underwear and say, "Take these off and stay still."

Blue-green eyes daunt and strike, screaming everything she will never say with her own voice. Not again. Not since that night— loser, you left me, I hate you. Those were a one-time deal.

"Go," Bella snaps. She kicks my hip with her just-been-kissed foot and rolls onto her stomach. She lies her head on her forearms and stares toward the window.

I tickle the bottom of her foot, trying to make it better, but it's too late. My heart is triple-beating, and my blood is thirsty and racing. I sniff and rub my eager nose. My gums tingle, and my palms prickle. My body is standing here, but my attention is already in the bathroom with my slut spread out and waiting, all lined up and vindictive.

_Hurry up,_ she laughs.

I turn and go.

My mind is one step ahead of itself, so I know what needs to be done before I do it. Anticipation. I'm closing the door, and I already know I need to flip on the light. I'm flipping on the light, so now I need to empty out my pockets. I'm emptying out my pockets, envisioning myself cutting lines.

I catch my reflection in the mirror.

_Look real hard, motherfucker. That's you and me._

Black eyes, black heart, black blood. I need a shave and a haircut. My nose is red, and when I focus on it, my nostrils slightly flare. I sniff.

I toss my vindicator on the counter and turn the sink water on and let it flow, hiding these noises from Bella. After pulling off my shirt, I cup my hands under the water and sink my face in.

_Breathe in and drown yourself, pussy, _Cocaine pushes. _It's the only way you'll ever be able to stop._

With my palms on the bathroom counter, I look into the mirror again. My nose drips water; so does my chin. My eyelashes are wet and clumped together, and my hairline is damp. Faint purple-blue colors collect under my eyes, proving how tired my body really is. It's impossible to hide and so in spite of my chemical romance.

My form is suffering, failing, withering away—diminishing—while my insides are jumping to their own altered-uptempo pace. My brain, my heart, and my energy run strong, fast and undying as long as I give in. But my eyes, skin, and complexion tell a different tale.

_Hmm... loser? No. That's too nice. _

_Expected. _

I squeeze my eyes closed.

_She won't always understand. She won't always accept. But I will, baby. _

I open my eyes and avoid the mirror. I pull my towel from the rack and dry my face and hands, and then I pour the nagging bitch all over the counter. I cut her up with a credit card from my wallet and let her in with a rolled up twenty I hide under the trash can.

She fucks quick and hard, steady as she goes. One, two … three. It takes no effort anymore. I'm good at this. Exceptional. Phenomenal.

I tilt my head back and rub my nose with the back of my hand, and I chill while everything falls back into place. My spine straightens, and my heartbeat evens out; too fast and rocking, but better. I roll my neck and crack a few knuckles before I chop her up a little more.

Four lines this time; so fucking swift.

I'm up, spitting in the sink. I see my reflection, and this time I don't give a fuck.

I smile.

_Asshole. _

I'm confident. I'm compelling and unbeatable. My eyes burn darker and my head is held higher. I can literally feel cocaine weaving and bonding herself into my muscle and bone; marrow is traded for lost inhibitions, and when I flex, it's clean strength.

I turn off the water and rub my face with the towel again before switching out the light and opening the door. Baby Bliss is dressed in my hoodie, out of bed. She sits on my computer desk with her legs crossed, with the window open, letting late night October air in. My girl is cold, but proud. Her lips hint blue, but her eyes are all determination.

I pull my pack from my back pocket and slip a cigarette between my lips. "What?" I ask. I light up and sit in the chair at her feet. I place them in my lap and smirk between drags.

Bella tries to pull ten little toes away, but I hold onto her right calf.

She attempts to kick me like she did earlier. I take one more pull from my smoke and toss it out the window, over her shoulder. I blow white fumes out to the side and stand up. I push my girl's legs open and fall between. I dig my fingers into her thighs and pull her to the edge of the desk, until she can feel me against her.

"Kid," I tease. "Little girl. Pretty princess."

Her nails break the skin on the top of my hand. "Let me go."

I brush my lips across her cheek and sigh. "Baby, baby, baby," I hum.

She pushes her fists into my chest; I don't feel a thing. "Get away from me." She fights.

I rock my hips against her, and the entire desk shifts and bangs against the wall. My pencil holder falls over, and different papers scatter. Bella's hands move from over mine, to the end of the desk beside her. Her head falls back and her lips part, letting out the sweetest little moan.

My girl rolls her center against my cock. I push back. The computer monitor falls over and paint chips off the wall. Bella wraps her legs around me and whispers, "Come closer," between little cries.

The hoodie comes off easily, and she clings: lips to lips,chest to chest, stomach to stomach, middle to middle. I lift up and turn away from the window. I'm surefooted and aware. I can hear and feel and smell and sense all. thanks to seven white lines and strawberry blonde kisses.

Love is vivid.

We fall to the mattress, and we're a breathless hurry of open mouths and lifted hips and pulled cotton and pushed down jeans. Bella's trying to slip me inside while I'm kicking my pants off. She groans in frustration when I pull back.

But she gets the tip and loses her mind.

My girl can't wait, so I fuck her with my socks on.

"Right here, baby," I whisper, tilting her chin toward the side of my face. "I want it here."

She knows. My girl nods.

I pump my dick a few times before I line up and settle on my elbows so I can get what I want. And when I slide in and push as deep as I can, Bella gasps right into my ear.

Long and hard and loud.

She gives me chills, goosebumps and shivers; there is nothing more bittersweet than the first sound she makes.

It's desperate after that. It always is, like we can't connect enough. No matter how hard we fuck, or how firmly we grab, it's never near sufficient. We never start off slow and sweet and easy; it's always this way: gritted teeth, scratches down my back, finger mark bruises on her sides, and silent prayers to the Lord, begging to be closer.

"Oh, God!" Bella cries, dragging her fingers down my the back of my shoulders and lower back. "Please, please … please!" she whines.

I take her right leg and hook it over my shoulder, uniting us a little more, but never as much as we need.

While I stroke deeply and fully, moving my hips with intent, I feel her nails inflicting damage to my already harmed skin. It hurts, and my eyes water, but I don't dare ask her to stop.

"More," I groan into the side of her neck. "Harder, baby," I say.

I won't be satisfied until she splits me open and touches me on the inside. I want her fingertips to dance on vertebrae, and I want her arms to get tangled in veins and arteries. It'll be enough when she's elbow deep, coated in my life source. I need this girl to break apart rib bones and puncture lungs to reach for my heart. I want her to rip the right ventricle from the left, just to feel the very center of where my heart beats for her.

"That's you," I'd say. "That's where you are."

It isn't just sex with Bliss. It's unequal to anything I've done before, and I've fucked with a lot of girls. With them, though, there was never any emotion involved. It was all about getting lost. And I loved baby before this; I thought I loved her downright. We were fucked up, but there was something untouchably deep about us.

Turns out I didn't know shit about love until she let me in.

This new love changed everything. It altered the way she looks and feels and speaks. My girl is sexy and soft, and torturous. She walks differently, with more certainty and sway. She moves differently, with even more natural ease and intimacy when I'm around. Bella's more aware of herself, and of me. And of our love.

I kiss the side of baby's already-kissed-so-hard-today neck and pull my hips back, just to stroke back in. I dig my feet into the mattress for leverage and posture. My left sock slips down my foot and the sheets begin to come undone, gathering beneath our bodies. Bella's hands fall from my back to my bed; her nails press into gray cotton. Her back arches, and I push in harder, pressing my pelvis against her clit. I lick her partly open lips. I whisper things I don't even understand. I fuck firmer and harsher; her leg falls from my shoulder.

I pull out and flip her onto her stomach. Bella laughs lustfully, pushing her ass up so I can slip in.

I come, but fuck through it.

The world is static and clocks are dead. The sun is stuck in the east, unable to rise. Stars are gone, and the moon drops from the sky, leaving us in complete darkness. The trees surrounding the house burn, and the walls from the house fall flat. My girl is screaming, _"God, God, God. Please, please, please,"_ but even He has left us. We are the only people left on this Earth and in this universe. We're alone, faithless and sinning. She begs, pleads, and demands The Kings of Kings to hear her. My girl makes deals with Our Creator, _"Give me this and I swear … I swear!"_

But love is losing your religion, and there is no God here.

I circle my arm under her waist and pull my girl up to her hands and knees. I go slower this time, but push in just as deep. Her head is slightly turned so I can see her closed eyes. Strawberry blonde is stuck to the side of Bella's face and her sweat-damp shoulders. Her right elbow gives out and she falls, but picks herself right back up. My girl pushes back, thrust for thrust. Her thighs shake and her bottom trembles. I push down on her lower back, just to give myself a little more.

Baby comes now, tight and quaking around my cock. My girl sings my name and reaches back for my hand. I press her to the mattress, until she's flat and I'm on top, slowly leading her through her namesake. I kiss the back of her neck and place our joined hands beside her head.

She cries. Bella always does.

We keep going, and hours have most likely passed. All of the sheets have fallen from the bed and my socks are long gone. I'm sitting against the headboard and baby is riding my dick. Her eyes are barely open, and I keep slipping out because we're too wet.

"I'm so tired." She smiles lazily.

Bella's arms are slack at her sides, and her shoulders are slouched; she falls into my chest and softly kisses under my chin.

Up on my knees, I keep us connected, but lay my girl on her back. I pull away, and she whimpers, holding onto my arm. Bella shakes her head and asks me to stay. "I'm not tired, just stay … just be with me."

I nod, but remove her fingers from my forearm. She watches me move off the bed, and I keep my eyes on her. Bella's legs fall open, and I can see how too-loved her center is. She breathes in slowly and winces as she stretches her arms above her head. I can feel the pressure of how stiff and sore my body probably is, but I don't feel any ache or pain.

On my feet, I reach down for my discarded shirt and use it to dry off my cock and stomach before kneeling on the bed for Bliss. She giggles as her body turns toward me; it seems so loud in the now quiet room. I press cotton to her middle, carefully cleaning her off. She's wet up and down her thighs, and as far back as her bottom. I blow cool air over her heat and kiss her like a whisper.

We both know we should stop, but we won't. We can't.

So I lift her hips and slip a pillow beneath her lower back.

"Better?" I ask, settling back between her legs.

She smiles with closed eyes and nods her head, dropping her knees completely wide. And then I'm inside again, fueled by obsessed-love, and _her._

.

.

.

"I can't keep my eyes open," Bella whispers. A tear streams from her eye to her temple, and then into her tangled and sweat-wet hairline.

"I know," I say, kissing the top of her shoulder.

Blue-gray light is beginning to seep through closed curtains. The room isn't so dark anymore, and we're not so desperate. Everything is slow, and every touch is almost too painful. Aches and pangs I wasn't feeling earlier are surfacing. My wrists hurt, and my knees. My back is burning, for sure covered by her scratches. I can feel where she kissed me black and blue on my neck and chest; it throbs.

We're still together—still fucking; the best as we can, anyway. My dick won't stay hard and she's too swollen to let me in completely. But we kiss and touch, and whisper incoherencies to each other. We trace teeth marks with the tips of our fingers and rub and try until we think, _maybe, maybe one more time,_ but it finally hurts her too much, so we stop.

"Five minutes," she mumbles, in and out of consciousness.

"For what, Bliss?" I brush my lips along her cheek, circling my hips against her.

"Sleep."

I give it a few moments before I whisper her name, just to check if she's asleep. My girl is motionless and snoring lightly, so I untangle myself from gripped arms and legs and stand up.

My entire body fights back, making sure I feel every part that suffers. It's in my elbows and shoulders. My fingers ache, and my neck. I have a small headache behind my eyes, and the low light that is in the room, glares.

I walk over to the window and close the space between the curtains. Every step takes effort, and every move challenges my strength. I should cover my girl; she's open wide and deep sleeping, but I'll do it after. It's been too long. It's been all night.

_She's_ right where I left her: in a baggie under my sink.

I go through the motions without effort: pour, cut, snort. I do it until my bag is empty and the false energy returns. And when I'm back to feeling nothing but the rush in my blood, I start the bath and go for my girl.

She's in the same position I left her in, only now she's snoring a little louder. The room is October-morning cold, and it smells like all-night-long sex. The tub isn't full yet, so I grab my pack and smoke a cigarette, just to let Bliss sleep a couple more minutes. I check my phone, but I don't bother to see who texted or called. I look for the time, and when I see that it's 4:30 in the morning, Saturday, it means nothing to me.

I flick ash into an old Dr. Pepper can on my computer desk, and when I decide that she's slept enough and I need her more, I drop it in, hear it sizzle, and stand up.

I close her legs and press my lips to her shoulder; Bella doesn't stir at all. I kiss down to her elbow and whisper her name, a little louder each time.

"Wake up," I say at her ear. "Open your eyes, girl."

I feel her body wake; she rolls into me, but doesn't open up. "Can't," she sleepy-mumbles.

"You don't have to," I assure.

I lift her out of bed, with her legs over my left arm and her head in the elbow of my right. I try to be easy on her legs, but she still softly cries out. Baby tries to part her thighs a little, seeking comfort, but she isn't given much.

I keep the bathroom door open and leave the light out. I step into hot water with my life against my chest and slowly sit down. Bella opens her eyes when her cold skin touches our warm saving-grace. I smile, and she smiles back. I set her between my legs before reaching forward to turn the water off. The tub is filled to the brim, and completely enveloping.

Baby hisses when I open her knees, allowing the heat of the water to touch her.

"Shh," I whisper into her ear, using my wet hand to wash off her forehead. "I got you," I say. "Sleep."

With a small nod of her head, she does—my girl sleeps.

.

.

.

A day later, my parents and Alice are still in L.A, and Mr. and Mrs. Swan think their daughter is sleeping over with her best friend. We haven't left the house. We haven't really left my room. We stay up all night, and Bella sleeps all day. We talk to whoever we have to, minimally, and only to keep our lie safe.

"I'm in my room," Bella said to Alice a few hours ago. "I'm bored, come home." She so convincingly sighed. "I hate it here without you."

Dim came over and brought me some more of my slut while Bliss was asleep after our bath yesterday morning. He didn't notice B's car parked on the side of the house, and I didn't invite him in.

"What's up?" he asked. We shook hands.

"Nothin'." I shut the door in his face.

The weekend's over, though. Tomorrow my girl has school, and my family is coming home. The last two days were a brief look into where we'll be in a year, and I want it—now.

We're lying on the floor, because that's where the blankets and pillows are. Bella's in one of my shirts with her feet up on the bed. Red-yellow hair is fanned around her head, and she's focused on the TV, while I'm centered on her.

Nothing slips my mind—not a single thing is overlooked or forgotten: I've taken everything away from this girl. She's beaten-up and bent because of me.

I ate her fucking childhood and molded her into this person: cold and calculating and bitter, but so fucking everything I need her to be.

Something's off, though. There's something absent. It's wrong. Bliss is wrong. I have her body, and I have her affection. She's right here with me; I can reach out at touch her, but she's not _really_ here. I don't completely have everything. I only have what's left of her heart and soul. The pieces that haven't broken off … yet.

It's the simple smile she used to get when she saw me, and the excitement our secret used to create that's lacking. We never create silly-only-for-us rules anymore; we're full of demands and insistence. We don't just lay in bed and be in love; we fuck until it hurts too badly to fuck any longer. I'm inside of her until she feels what I feel—this never-ending and overwhelming demand.

It's difficult being under the pressure of love's burden, but it's harder being her beast. Her eyes are always so fucking wary now, but when I'm in her, and she's under me, in the back of my coke-clouded mind, I think I can fuck simple smiles and excitement back into her. I think, maybe if I dig deep enough, force her to feel all of me, everything will come back and the rest will just vanish. Maybe then we can go back to how it used to be—before she lost herself in my bullshit.

Because I fucking miss cream soda floats and snow boots that saved the world. I miss being on the phone with her talking about nothing at all. I miss the times when she melted over my touches simply because she loved me—only because she loved me. Stomach aches over scrambled eggs and Mary Janes on her feet are some of the best memories I have of my girl.

All of that has been replaced with this need to prove that we love each other and need each other the most. I thirst for her more than I do anything else … more than cocaine. Bliss is in my thoughts all day, every day, constantly. It never stops, and I over analyze everything. Why did she look at me like that? What does it mean? _"Do you still love me, babe?" "Then why in the fuck are you giving me that look?" "I'm not over-reacting, you're being a bitch." "Try it, Bliss. Try to leave me. I won't let you."_

It works both ways. I can't step out of the room without a huff and a puff, with her arms crossed over her chest. _"Are you leaving?" "I know you are, and if you are, don't come back." _B's suspicious of everything, clingy, needful and defeated. She's always touching me, binding us together whenever she can. She might think I don't notice, but I do. It's a pinky hooked in my belt loop, her toes touching my ankle under the dinner table, her mouth around my cock.

It's getting worse as the days go by because it's getting harder for us to find time to be together. Shit is changing. It just is. Relationships and friendships are altering and evolving, while Bliss and I are stuck at this standstill. I go to school out of town, Bliss and my sister aren't as close as they used to be, and the secret is taking its toll. We're at the same exact spot we were at when we were kids, holding hands under the covers and keeping what we are concealed and protected, whether we want to admit it or not.

We're holding on, but I know that one day our grip will slip.

I sit up and open the top drawer of my nightstand and reach in for my bag. B turns her head to see what I'm doing but looks away just as quickly, unaffected.

"That's not normal, you know?" I say, holding a half-smoked joint at the corner of my lips.

I light a match in my right hand and use my left to protect the flame. My eyes squint, trees light up, and I inhale, deep … deeper—so fucking deep. I breathe until my lungs are full and burning. Choked up and holding in, I stand up and shake out the match and drop it into the same Dr. Pepper can all of my cigarette butts go into.

Then I exhale.

"Oh, this should be good," baby mumbles, rolling her eyes.

I open the bedroom window before sitting with her lifted feet beside my head. Her eyes are glued on the TV, but she's not watching. There's nothing there. Bella's blank, deep in thought and knowing. She knows better. She does. She has to.

"You shouldn't be so untouched by this," I say, spinning my bad habit between my thumb and pointer finger. "It should bother you."

Baby laughs and sits up. "_That_ should bother me? That's never bothered me."

I press my lips to burning paper and pull. With my lungs full, I say, "Because I fucked you up."

"Please," she scoffs.

I extend my legs and cross my ankles, blowing smoke away from my girl. She sits closer; she always does. Bella touches my knee, she walks her fingers down my shin, before crawling to my feet. My girl pulls at the few hairs I have on top of my foot; she bends my big toe.

"That's nothing," she whispers. "It's an absolute nonentity. It's—"

I cut her off, with my respiratory system still full of chemicals. "You never should have been around it in the first place, B. I'm bad for you."

My head feels lighter, but _she's_ beginning to call to me again. And now it's all I can think about: get away from love and snort oblivion so that none of this matters.

"You're not bad for me, Edward. It's the shit you do." Bella smacks my foot away.

I put it back on her lap and slouch against my mattress and bed frame, determined to finish my clip before I meet that cunt in the bathroom. Meanwhile, Bella pushes the arch of her hand into the curve of my left foot. She circles her thumbs right beneath my toes and presses the tips of her fingers against the thin skin on the top, gently moving tiny bones and tendons.

"You're killing me, princess kid," I whisper, almost incoherently.

Small, precious sized fingers move around my ankle and slowly up my calf. "I'm good for you, though, right, Edward?"

I smoke and nod, dying under her hands. The racing in my head slows down just enough to allow myself to relax. Baby is under my kneecap now, kneading her fingers, forcing the right side of my mouth to tilt and smile.

Bliss moves between my legs, massaging both of my thighs, tickling me a little. I blow smoke in her face and she doesn't even flinch; she doesn't even cough. She moves easily, carefully working her tiny hands up my sides. My skin shivers and my dick twitches. I take another hit, and this time she opens her lips right above mine, so I exhale into her. My girl takes as much as she can before pulling away and breathing out over her shoulder.

Then, with her lips right below my ear and her body between my knees, she says, "If I made you choose, would it be me?"

I laugh, blissed out from the weed and my girl. "Yeah," I say.

"Good," she says.

And then she's up, and she's gone.

And I know.

I try to catch her ankle, but Bella knew what she was doing when she was touching me hypnotized. That's our deal, and this is our game, and my girl is good, and only getting better. By the time I get up, B is already in the bathroom with the door shut and locked. I pound on it, and the wood trembles under my fist. It bends and deforms, but it does not open.

My heart is beat, beat, beating, and I can't believe she's doing this.

"Bella," I yell, "don't fucking do it."

She doesn't answer, but I hear her moving around, searching. The trash can beside the toilet hits the door from the other side and the cabinet doors open, so I hammer harder, because Bella found _her._ I'm threatening and swearing, "God dammit, Bella, open the fucking door!" I'm crying, literally crying like a man who is about to lose everything.

Then I hear baby open the toilet seat.

I start kicking, and Bliss has to be afraid; I'm scaring myself. My body moves on its own as the user in me overrides logic. There is no love, no sympathy, no apprehension or grace; there is only madness … and this fucking door.

And when threatening doesn't work, I drop to my knees and beg. I press my cheek against damaged wood and cry through clenched teeth. I pull at the front of my hair and spit while I apologize.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry. I swear … I swear I'll stop, just open the door." Nothing I'm saying makes much sense, and everything passing my lips is a lie.

Then the toilet flushes.

I cry out like a monster; my voice is raspy and writhing. I scratch my fingernails down my temples and stand up.

"Open the fucking door, Bella," I demand. My shoulders heave up and down with unsettled breaths.

Nothing.

I try the handle again.

I slam my fist into the barrier between us and my knuckles split open. Bella screams. I feel no pain. I do it again, leaving a bloody print of my fist behind.

"Stop!" baby screams like murder.

I raise my fist to hit again, but Bella unlocks the door. With my swollen, blood coated hand, I turn the knob and push it open. It hits me on the swing back, so I push it again. My girl's eyes are determined, but her body protects itself. She's in the space between the toilet and the counter, with her chin raised high, but her arms out in front of her, like I would ever hurt love.

Bliss screams, pressed against the wall. I slam the palms of my hands into the flat surface at each side of her head, splintering wallboard and sandy colored paint.

"What the fuck did you do?" I seethe.

Baby doesn't lower her hands, but she stares me straight in the eyes. She refuses to answer, so I punch the wall again, this time knocking the mirror from its nail.

Like she always does, my girl rises up. She stands taller and lowers her hands. Baby steps into me, and when I don't back up, she pushes. Her small, capable hands meet my chest and she forces me away from her. Just a step—a step I take right back from her, but she did it, she moved me.

Her eyes are stripped again, and I can see just by looking at her she's telling herself to breathe. Baby is so unswayed and immune; she's lost all of her fear and self-saving. She knows I'll do anything just to keep her—go through anything. Nothing we do to one another is too much or too little. We're stuck-still in this fucking purgatory, too afraid to act.

I know it's wrong.

But she doesn't.

"I'm not so untouched, right?" she asks. "Is this what you were talking about?" Bella pushes me again.

I shake my head and smile maliciously through wrongful tears. "You think I can't get more?"

Baby pushes my arm away and stands unbowed, trembling but firm. "I don't care."

I laugh and move away, turning on the sink. I dip my wounded hand under cold water and watch it turn light-pink from blood. I extend my fingers and form a fist; nothing's broken, but it's hurt.

"You're an idiot." Bella walks out of the bathroom.

I wrap my hand up in a towel and avoid my reflection in the mirror. I go back into my room, where Bella is putting the sheets back on the bed. I don't say anything, but she knows I'm here; her body naturally turns toward me.

I step behind her and put the arm with the good hand around her chest. "I'm sorry," I say, kissing her temple, holding her to me.

She lets the sheets fall and grips onto my forearm, and just like that, everything is dismissed.

.

.

.

I stopped by D's house on my way to Port Angeles this morning.

"It's too fucking early, bro," he complained, bare chested in yesterday's jeans.

The trade was easy, like always. "I have class," I said dismissively, shoving _her_ into my pocket.

Dim took the hint and backed away from my car. I drove off, stopping at the gas station to cut up in the restroom. On the way out, I bought a Dr. Pepper and a Slim Jim I never ate. I kept the music low and the window down; I thought about my girl—we were awake before the sun came up.

"I'm going to wear this today," Bella said, pulling my dark gray hoodie from its hanger. She brought it to her nose and accidentally smeared lip gloss on its sleeve. "Alice won't be there," she said, wiping away Bonne Bell, "and nobody else will know it's yours."

After she made me re-hang the bathroom mirror, I sat on my bed and watched Bella, who was dressed in a mismatched bra and underwear, curl her hair. She had mascara and hair spray, and whatever-the-fuck else spread all over the counter. Baby stood on her tiptoes and stuck her bottom out when she leaned toward the mirror to get a better look at herself. At one point, Bliss wasn't paying attention and left the curling iron in her hair for too long. Strawberry-blonde started to smoke and Bella blamed me.

"You'll be the end of me, Dusty," she said, smiling through the mirror.

_I know,_ I thought.

I wanted to drive her to school, but we'd have to explain to my parents and Alice why her car was parked on the side of the house. I didn't give a fuck.

"Tell them," I said.

She pulled her curls out from under the borrowed-from-me hoodie hood and said, "We've gone this long, what's another couple of months?"

_Everything. _

When we left, I drove behind Bliss. At the end of the driveway, she turned one way and I turned the other.

I'm in class now, slouched in my seat, tapping my pen against my folder. The constant noise annoys the girl sitting beside me. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, flips her hair, and clears her throat while staring at my hands. Like I give a fuck. I don't, and I keep tapping.

I don't even know what fucking class I'm sitting in. Bella helped me decide my schedule at the beginning of the semester, and as long as it kept her happy and I was guaranteed to play ball, I agreed to whatever.

"This is important, Edward," Bella said, motioning toward the computer on the morning I was _supposed _to go to rehab. "What do you want to do?"

I didn't want to have anything to do with it. I wanted to smoke trees and spread my girl.

"Be with you," I said, kissing the inside of her elbow.

She pushed me away, just as annoyed as the girl staring at my hands now.

"English?" baby suggested.

"Fine," I said, pressing my lips to her neck.

"Be serious," she mumbled.

"Marry me?" I asked with the weight of the words heavy in my throat. I meant it, even if I didn't think about it before I said so. It's what I want … it's where we're headed anyway.

I tried to turn the computer chair toward me, but she refused.

With a dense, unsure scoff and a lot of effort, baby rolled her eyes. "Statistics? You'll need that if you want to transfer to a—"

I kissed her mouth and she finally stopped talking. Her hands were shaking.

I was under the assumption I was only doing this until she graduated, but shit changed when she sent in an application of her own.

Northwest. Kirkland. Three hours away.

I feel like it's hanging over our heads, just as looming as our fucking secret.

Our plans were never concrete and so fucking far from practical, but I loved the notion of Bliss and I leaving town the day she graduates high school. Eighteen or not, she's supposed to be mine. That's been the deal all along. Just me and her, with nowhere to go. But she's fucking ruining it.

Bliss talks about preparations and apartments and finding a job close to school if she gets in. She will. Of course she will. She'll get in because fate has always fucked with us.

"We can't just drive around and land somewhere, Edward. Be real," she said the last time we discussed it. "Besides, can I even really count on you?" "I mean, what do you want from me?" "I've given you everything, already."

Instead of being in another state, or another part of the country when everyone learns the truth about me and B, it'll be right in our faces. Three hours away is close enough to be held responsible for the last seven years. It's close enough for weekend visits and family holidays, and too many fucking expectations. It will be near enough to feel the disappointment of everyone who will be hurt by our lie. And what am I supposed to say to her dad? What the fuck are we supposed to say to anyone? How are we supposed to explain _us?_

"We can't just run," she said.

I think we fucking can.

I tap my pen a little louder, a little faster: tap, tap, tap, tap.

I sit up straight and clear my throat. The girl next to me gives me a dirty look before pretending to write notes.

I check my phone. Bella should be just out of third period, and I have ten minutes before I can leave.

_I'm coming to get you,_ I text.

She replies right away: _can't. _

I get up and walk out of class.

I have an unlit cigarette in my mouth and the phone at my ear. I push through the double doors and walk across the lawn toward my car. I can't be still. I can't be in that fucking class, with that fucking girl, and my fucking thoughts. I need Bliss, always. Bliss. Bliss. Bliss. Bliss.

"Hello," she answers.

"Why?" I say, lighting my smoke. "Why can't I come get you?" I sound like an asshole. I sound stupid and desperate. I sound like I always do when I talk to my girl.

Bella sighs. "I love you, you know. You know I think about you all day," she tells me what I need to hear. She calms me.

I get to my car, but I don't get in. I lean against the trunk and smoke and listen to love breathe. She hums the tune of a song, _come on skinny love just last the year,_and slowly my heartbeat returns semi-normal, and I can think again. _I told you to be patient. I told you to be fine. _

"You can't come get me, silly boy, because baseball conditioning starts today, remember?" She giggles, and I love it.

"I forgot." I smile and blow contaminants into the air.

"I'll call you after school," she says.

We hang up, I grab my folder, and I head to my next class.

Whatever it is.

.

.

.

The fucking sun is in my eyes: running, squats, push-ups, and lunges. Conditioning is a motherfucker and my body is fighting back. I finish my last sprint and, with my hands on the back of my head, walk toward the dugout for my water bottle.

I'm breathing too hard. I should stop smoking—the lesser of my evils. I wipe sweat from my brow before lifting my hat from my head and pushing back my sweaty hair.

_Bliss. _

I stand up and pace back and forth. My heart skips a beat, pumping swiftly from working out, but acting off because I miss Bella. I get antsy. I crack my neck. I crack my knuckles.

"Want to hit a few balls?" someone asks me.

"Yeah, whatever," I answer.

Bliss.

Bliss.

Bliss.

I wonder if I have time to call her. I don't. Coach tells me I'm up. I trade my hat for my batting helmet. I tighten the belt around my baseball pants. I tap my bat against my cleat. I stand and position beside home plate.

"We're only practicing, Cullen. Go easy," Coach says from the side. "Just keep swinging until I tell you to stop," he says.

Bliss.

Bliss.

Bliss.

Isabella Bliss.

The pitcher pitches, and I swing and miss. I spit and position again. The pitcher pitches, and I swing a hit.

_Bink! _

The ball flies out somewhere. I don't give a shit where it went—it's not here, that's all that matters. But my body is telling me to run. I hit the ball, so I'm supposed to run. _Fucking run,_ that's what we were always supposed to do. That's how the fucking game is played. Stand, swing, and run. It doesn't change because the coach tells me not to go. I hit the motherfucker, I'm going. We're going.

The pitcher pitches, and I swing and hit again.

_Bink!_

I drop the bat. I'm fucking running.

"Cullen, swing again. Swing until I tell you to stop!" Coach yells out.

I go back. I sweep off home plate with my left foot.

Bliss.

Bliss.

Bliss.

Bliss.

Princess girl.

"Stop hitting them so hard, Cullen. We're only practicing your swing. This is just warm-ups," coach says. "This isn't the real deal. It's too early for that shit."

The pitcher pitches, and I swing and smash the motherfucking ball.

_Bink!_

That's how it's fucking done. So I drop the bat and run, and I make it past first base. But then coach steps out from behind the fence, yelling, "What part about _it's too early to run_ do you not understand, Cullen?" He has his cap in his hand, and he's shaking it at me.

I stop between first and second, breathing too hard, thinking too hard, stuck. I shrug. "I don't know," I say, out of breath. "Habit."

"Get up to bat," coach says, placing his hat back on his head.

Bliss.

Bliss.

Bliss.

Bliss. Bliss.

The pitcher pitches, and I swing and miss.

_Swoosh!_

I roll my neck and reposition myself. My elbows are high, and my knees are bent. I watch the ball until it's right in front of me. I swing, and I miss.

_Swoosh!_

"You were swinging too hard before, Cullen. Now your swing's off," coach yells. "You're tired. I told you it was too soon."

I take a practice swing off to the side. I step up to bat. I watch the ball, and I tell myself to be careful, swing lightly, and don't run.

This shit is natural; it always has been. She always will be.

The pitcher pitches, and I swing and hit.

_Bink!_

I drop the bat, and I fucking run.

.

.

.

Shit tends to catch up with me when I run, and then I'm fucked, because all I had to do was be patient and wait. Just swing. Just practice. It's only a drill. The real deal is coming soon enough. Be easy.

Only, I'm not one of those people who learn from their mistakes, and there are always consequences when I slow down and walk. Whether it be my baseball coach yelling for me to get the fuck off the field. Or my parents threatening me with rehab and homelessness. Or my girl, all tender and hesitant, begging me to just do this one last thing, and then we can go anywhere.

"_Give me this,"_ she said last week. _"Give me college and I'm yours forever."_

_Forever. _

"You need to do what's right for this team, Cullen." Coach's tone and obvious dissatisfaction drags me away from my thoughts, ending my first day of conditioning."This isn't only about you." He taps on the clipboard holding the team roster. "She's counting on you to do your part."

Stunned, I look up from my bag. My heart jump kicks, quadruple beating and fighting to keep up with adrenaline. "What did you say?" I ask, a little shaky and a lot uncertain.

Slowly and sarcastically, coach repeats, "Your team is counting on you to do your part."

I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands and take off my hat, tossing it near my glove on the dugout floor. I can't fucking think straight. I can't function. I can't be here with her in my head like this. It's becoming inescapable.

I need a line. I need Bella.

I need to do what's right.

"Yeah, I know," I agree, dismissively. I sit on the bench and hang my head between my shoulders.

"Whatever you have goin' on, kid," coach continues, "get it figured out and come back tomorrow. We'll try again. Fresh start."

When the noteworthy pep-talk is wrapped up, I head over to Pete's. He opens the door and offers me his open arms.

"You're all clay-dirt dirty, big-time college ball player," he jokes, letting me by.

I feel like I haven't been spending as much time here, but everything is absolutely unchanged. Same dirty carpet, couch and walls. It smells like bud and booze, with the slightest hint of vomit, courtesy of Rachel. A working TV is set on top of a broken one, the window is covered by an old blanket, and Ben's sitting at the kitchen table, packing a bowl.

It's just the three of us, and it's exactly what I need to clear my mind for a while.

And after a couple of hours of bullshitting over nothing with my boys, I've finally mellowed-out and sunken into Petey's old couch beside Benny, who's in town visiting. With a beer between my knees, I have my girl on the phone.

"Where are you, Edward?" she asks, disharmonized and let down.

"Petey's," I answer, undercover-like because we're still this big fucking hush-hush. _"Mom,"_ I add maliciously.

Across from where I sit, in a broken plastic chair from outside, Petey catches my attention and holds my stare. His look suggests a lot. My boy seems conflicted and suspicious and too fucking knowing. His eyebrows come together before he forces himself to look away, but then he looks right back at me like he can't even help it. But knowing better, Pete takes a drink of his beer and starts a conversation with Ben about whatever.

"It's my birthday on Saturday. Don't be gone on my birthday." Bella sighs. It sounds like she might be crying, but who fucking knows. It's the way she always sounds now.

Love is knowing you did that to her.

"I'll be home tonight," I say.

"It's three in the morning, Edward!" she whisper-yells, exasperated.

I bring my beer bottle to my lips and drink. I'm good, and I'm unagitated. _She's_ in me, swimming through my veins, stuck on the back of my throat. _She_ makes everything okay, even baby's little shouts.

"You're right." I laugh. "I'll be home tomorrow after my fresh start."

Pete looks at me again.

"What the hell are you talking—"

I hang up and slip my phone into my pocket.

"Family problems, or what, Dusty?" Petey sets his empty beer bottle on the same coffee table we were just snorting coke on an hour ago. The same table that's been here since we were kids sneaking cigarettes out of his mom's purse.

"Something like that," I say.

He keeps my gaze, and I return his look from earlier. He isn't so sly, though, and I'm not so convinced. I could say it—right now, "You're fucking my baby sister," But I don't, because he doesn't say it either. And so both of our secrets are safe for now.

Then Ben scoots over and sits closer to me, thigh to thigh."I love her, Edward," he says, and then he starts to cry. Just like that, fucking waterworks.

I think my boy's gone crazy, but I've been feeling the same way, and Petey's being shady and paranoid, so it has to be the bowl we smoked earlier. It has to be the drugs. This shit was bound to start killing off brain cells eventually.

Benjamin reaches forward for his pipe. He lights up and holds and cries and shakes his head.

I try not to laugh, but when Ben says, "So don't fuck her, okay?"

I lose it.

I laugh and fall to my side on Pete's ugly fucking couch. It smells like dust and cigarettes, and I wonder if he's been with my sister on this piece of shit. But I laugh until my stomach cramps, and I can't really breathe. I laugh until I'm crying, too.

"I know she's all slutty and shit," Ben explains, "but she's a good person, bro." Ben holds onto my knee. "Look at me, Edward. I'm fucking serious."

His eyes are blurry, he's so fucking lit, and he keeps smoking, making it worse.

I sit up, shake my head and wipe my eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Vic, man. Don't fuck her anymore." He moves his hand from my knee up to my shoulder. "I love her."

Now Pete starts to laugh, too. He takes the bowl from Ben and hits it.

"Yeah, sure," I say. "Congratulations on that … I guess."

I clear my throat and chew over whether or not I should tell him it's been over a year since I've been with Vic. It's been about a year since I've been with anyone but Bliss. I stay quiet, though.

Then he hugs me, and I hug him back, and we cuddle for a while on the grimy, so-fucking-comfortable couch. Ben keeps crying, and Pete and I keep laughing. Benny questions me about my relationship with Victoria, and I swear there's nothing to tell. Once he's convinced, he begins asking me over and over again if I'm mad at him, because if I am, he'll call it off with Vic.

"Bros before hoes," he says, and I start laughing all over again because Ben just said bros before hoes.

"It's not like that, Ben," I guarantee.

When our moment is over, he calls Vic and asks her to come over to Pete's. She says she's on her way with with Kim, Mixie and Charlotte. When the girls arrive, Victoria sits on Ben's lap and looks at me like she might feel guilty. Her eyes are like saucers, broad and winged. She bites on her thumb nail and messes with her hair, and not much has changed about this girl … except now she's loved.

I get up for another beer and Kim and Petey are in the kitchen. She's crying at the table, splotchy faced and brokenhearted, and he's leaning against the counter covered with old fast-food containers and empty booze bottles, pushing back a piece of linoleum with his foot and speaking in low, regretful tones.

I mutter an apology for interrupting and open the fridge. The handle is loose and the inside is empty, with the exception of the beer and a half-gallon of milk.

"I don't know why you're doing this, Pete," Kim cries. With her elbows on the table, she covers her face with both of her small hands.

I screw off the top of my brew and toss it in the sink. "You good?" I ask Petey.

He doesn't look at me, because I know what he's doing and why. Petey shrugs his shoulders and continues to kick the lifted kitchen floor.

I kind of linger between the kitchen and the living room. I don't want to sit beside Vic and Ben, and I don't want to listen to Pete call it quits with Kim, and I definitely don't need to be near Mixie or Charlotte. And it's not until my phone starts ringing again that Petey finally turns and gives me his eyes.

"It's my sister," I say, just to see what he does.

He smiles, because he knows I'm lying. It's four o'clock in the morning and he's the only one talking to Alice at this time anymore.

Then Mixie is with me. "You holding?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say.

She bats her lashes like it's pretty, but she's beginning to look like what she is: strung out.

"Wanna share?"

I finish the rest of my beer and say, "Sure."

Mixie and I walk toward the back of the house, and I feel Pete's eyes on me the entire time.

She tries to touch me, but I don't let her. Mixie sits on the edge of the bathtub and opens her legs, lifting her hot-pink, stretched cotton dress around her waist. She's wearing a thong and it's fucking disgusting.

"For old time's sake," she says with a giggle.

I separate our lines and keep my eyes to myself. My phone is still ringing.

"No thanks," I mumble.

"Are you sad?" Mixie asks. "Are you sorry because Victoria's with Ben?"

I shake my head.

"Is that why you won't fuck me?"

I glance over and Mixie has her finger under lace between her thighs. In a gross attempt for my attention, she moves it over and shows me her run-through pussy. I laugh and lift my eyes to her face, to her hair, to her arms. She's dirt. She's drug-grabbed and unhopeful, and Mix used to be kind of, sort of beautiful, but that was before she was chewed up and spit out. Youth is absent from her downcast face, superseded by lowness and rejection.

I do my lines and leave.

I step out to the living room just as Kim is bolting toward the front door. Charlotte follows, but Vic stays with Ben. I meet Pete in the kitchen; he's keeping himself busy by throwing out the trash that has accumulated this week.

And my phone keeps ringing.

"What was that about?" I ask, silencing my phone.

He uses his arms and sweeps everything on the counter into the trash bin."Answer your fucking phone, Edward." He kicks the trash can back against the wall. "Little sisters only call if they need you."

.

.

.

The sun isn't up yet, but it's peeking between clouds over the east. The lightless night is slowly becoming a gray morning, and the air is freezing. Streets are empty, houses are dark, and businesses are still closed. I'm the only one at the stop light, waiting for it to turn green, and my phone has finally stopped ringing. Sprinkles of water leave marks on my windshield, but it's not enough rain to turn on the wipers. As I move in on her street, I slow my speed and turn on the heater. I reach in the back for the blanket I leave in here and drop it on the seat next to me.

Four houses down, I call to let her know I'm here. I switch off my headlights and cruise until the Lincoln is nothing but a quiet rolling rumble. I stop in front of the willow tree, lean over to unlock the door, and wait.

Bella comes running from the back, barefoot and without pants. She tugs on the hem of her oversized white sleep shirt, covering her most precious parts. My girl tiptoes up to my car and gets in with a rush of cold wind.

"Oh my gosh, it's freezing," she says happily, like I didn't even keep her up all night with my absence.

Bliss rubs her hands together in front of the heater vent and pulls the blanket around her shoulders. She curls her toes and brings her legs up under her.

"Tired, baby?" I ask, ready to put the car in drive.

Only then, in front of where her parents are sleeping and the neighbors may be watching, she comes to me. Baby drops the comforter and climbs on, straddling my legs. She kisses my lips and shows me love with sleepy eyes and hurried touches. Bella unfastens and unzips my baseball pants, groaning in frustration when the zipper gets stuck halfway down. I have both of my hands on her thighs, and one of hers is down my boxer briefs; the other is on the seat behind my head.

"You taste like sweat," she whispers, pressing her lips to my throat, moving fast."So fucking good," she mumbles.

I put my hand between her legs to feel—she isn't wearing any underwear, and I die. I do. I fucking die a little.

And now I'm out and hard and so fucking ready in her grip. Bella puts me where I belong and drops hard and fast and so, so good. I'm submerged and swelling inside of love.

She drops her head back and cries out in relief. Strawberry-blonde ends brush my knee caps and her thighs shake at my sides. I press my cheek against her chest and moan, but I don't move. I can't. Neither of us can yet.

We just sit and feel and marvel, and wait for the initial stun of being joined to pass before we start. I curve my body to fit hers so our fronts are flush and baby's thighs are open enough to fit me completely within. I run my hands up her sides, over her back, and around the tops of her shoulders. I lift my hips and push her body down. Baby cries out.

Bella presses her forehead against mine, screening us with her pretty red hair. Her breath is sweet like cinnamon and warm like belonging, and her cheeks are the lightest color red. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth before letting it go and moaning. She circles her hips, never coming up, just rotating and sliding. She's so, so, so wet, and we can hear it between us when we move.

"Faster, faster, faster," she whispers, clutching onto my seat.

I sit back and drop my hands from her shoulders to her hips. "Let me see, princess," I say, lowly.

Baby shakes her hair away from her face and drops her hands from the seat, giving me a full view of her entire body. I want the shirt gone, but I leave it because we're outside.

Digging my fingers into her hipbones, I maneuver her just like she wants: solid, swift, and needy. The car shakes, my girl is making the sweetest sounds, and I'm just looking, lost in how fucking beautiful she is taking my dick.

I lean forward and kiss the side of her throat. "We should,"—I breathe out—"we should go, baby."

I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself not to come—_not yet. Fuck. Not yet. _I slow down, but my girl claws at my arms, my chest, my neck.

"No!" she cries, circling her arms around my head.

I laugh.

"Just..." she starts. "Be here."

As much as I want to take her somewhere, I messed up when I didn't come over tonight like I was supposed to. My girl doubts me, and I'm not gaining any trust back by not changing. She has her pretty fingertips in me now, and we're running out of time before her dad wakes up for work; she's not going to let me stop until we have to, and not a moment sooner.

I kiss the corner of her mouth and smile. "Okay. Okay."

When we're finally done, Bella sits across the seat with her feet in my lap and the blanket over her body. I puff on a joint while she attempts to talk to me about her day, but her eyes can't even stay open and she yawns between words. She's telling me how Jasper and Alice don't talk anymore, and I think about telling her about Pete because I know she knows, but I don't.

"And then she got mad at me because I was sitting with Garrett." Bella half-laughs, half-yawns, like it's no big deal. Except, with that motherfucker, it always is.

I blow on the end of my spliff before taking another hit, fighting the urge to push her fucking feet off me. Baby takes notice of my discomfort and sits up.

I hate the sleepy-purple beneath her eyes.

"Don't start," she defends.

I laugh. "I didn't say shit, B."

"You don't have to," she answers defiantly, suddenly awake. "He's my friend."

"Who you tried to sleep with," I reply sarcastically and intentionally to hurt her feelings.

I take one last hit and blow smoke out the window before starting my car. "I gotta go."

"No." She shakes her head.

"Take the blanket with you. I'll see you later."

"Edward, no."

I scoff and sit back, dropping my hands from the wheel. "What?"

"Don't be mad at me," she says.

She's so small and wrapped up warm in a blanket that smells like our sex, but this girl is the only girl who can cause me to swell with rage so quickly. I want to punch the motherfucking windshield out. I want to fuck the questions out of her. Especially now that I've been in her, knowing I can't live without it, and it was almost his.

She tells me it didn't mean anything. _"It was a moment," _she said the last time we argued about him. _"Nothing. Forgettable. Inconsequential."_

But she won't let him go, and there's something there. Bella feels something for that boy and it's enough to allow her relationship with Alice suffer over it, and with me. It's fucked, but any body I touched before Bliss meant zero—_they're_ nothing, forgettable, and inconsequential. No names, no faces, no feelings. But Garrett, the only other boy she's ever put her lips on, he's a legit option and a constant presence. Baby's thought about him that way before; I can tell by the way she says his name: smooth, with a small lift of her lips.

She doesn't doubt him.

That's all for me.

But after everything I've done, I'm lucky to have that at all. My girl may have considered Garrett as an option before, but we're spun tight in this web of dependence, and she isn't going anywhere. She'd rather be miserable with me than happy with that pussy, and I'm fucked up enough to let that happen.

It kills me, though. It fucking _kills_ me.

"I'm not," I finally say.

Her shoulders slump and relax, but her face remains un-trusting, like I gave up too easily. Which I did. Normally, I'll cry and yell and hit anything until my knuckles are bruised and bloody. I'll throw myself at her feet and beg for her to love me more—impossibly more. I'll make her feel so guilty and so bad for doing what she did … what she does, that she'll be asking _me_ to forgive her. Then she'll spread her legs to show me I got her, not him—never him. We'll fuck with one another until the entire argument is twist-flipped and transformed into nothing more than crooked affection.

Torturing one another so badly is the only way to decently show how much love there is.

I hurt you, you hurt me … I love you more—that's what we've become.

I want it, too. I want Bella's tears and her screams and her scratches and slaps. I can practically feel the sting on my skin I want it so much.

So, I skip one habit for the other—I go home and cover myself in counterfeit passion_._

Love is saving her from me.


	35. White Blank Page

**We do not own Twilight, but we do own Dusty. Keep that in mind. **

**Much love to Florence and the Machine, Middle Class Rut, Nikki Minaj, Taking Back Sunday, Sublime, Jack Johnson, The Naked and Famous, Lana Del Ray, Pepper, ****Vladimir Nabokov, Filia, Lolita, John Green, and Blue Valentine. **

**This is my last Author's Note, so I would like to say thank you to every person who continued to support us through this. The cycle of addiction is not easy, but this happens. It's your neighbors, your friends, your kids … you. **

**Dusty Lovers, Dusty bites for being the one safe place.**

**We're holding bats, yelly. **

_Fuck it. _

**Karin. Here's to killing with the same shovel the grave was dug with.**

**Mumford and Sons – White Blank Page: **_Can you lie next to her and give her your heart, your heart, as well as your body? And can you lie next to her and confess your love, your love, as well as your folly? And can you kneel before this king and say "I'm clean," "I'm clean"?__But tell me now where was my fault, in loving you with my whole heart?__  
><em>

_Oh, tell me now where was my fault, in loving you with my whole heart?_

**Chapter 33 – Dusty**

The continuing detachment between my sister and Bliss is unmistakable and increasing. When I get home the next night, Bella's sitting on one couch and Alice is on the other. They're arguing about school ... again. Alice wants to know why Bella won't go to California, and Bliss tries to deflect.

"Nothing will change, Al," she says evenly. "Why do you keep bringing this up?"

"Because we had a plan!" my sister shouts.

"No," Bella corrects her. "You had one."

Clipped short by my arrival, the girls try to act like nothing is wrong; they shift, sit straight and smile, but they're unconvincing and too-wounded and so apparent.

Their hurt lingers in the air.

Baby is past the brink of tears, with puce-pink cheeks and smeared mascara. She's picking at the ends of her hair, avoiding my stare.

"How was baseball?" Alice asks, let down by the end of their conversation. She sits back with the remote and absentmindedly flips through the channels.

I drop my equipment bag and shut the front door. "Fine," I say, looking between them.

And it was—it was better. I hit the ball and didn't run … much. I'm exhausted, though. My body wants to shut down. I haven't slept in almost two days, but I'm chemically aware. My mind races and my body struggles. I'm wide-awake, but weak. It's such a fucked up, disorienting state. Especially when all I want to do is lean on my girl.

Baby takes a small look at me and knows. She rolls her eyes, and tears that may or may not belong to me slide down her cheeks.

_Like I don't have enough to worry about, _her look says.

My first instinct is to use more, because it'll work and I'll feel better and I can deal with Bliss, but only temporarily. My body can only be ignored for so long before it fights back, and it's already starting to.

.

.

.

Somehow I end up at the kitchen table.

"Eat. You look like shit." Mom drops a bowl of pasta down on the table in front of me.

"Thanks," I mumble, digging in with my fork. The moment it touches my lips, though, my stomach turns. I force myself to take a bite anyway, but push my bowl away when alfredo sauce hits my stomach.

"You're not going to eat?" Mom asks.

It took a while for me to recognize her after I returned home this last time, but Mom's back to herself: beautiful, firm, and non-effective. Her life is a series of slips and victories—she's too solid to fail. Her exterior is impenetrable, and she can handle anything. Even me. Even if she doesn't think so.

"I'm not hungry," I say. I push my seat back and get up.

I kiss my mom on the forehead as I try to pass, but she holds on to my sides and keeps me close in her mother-strong hold. I wrap my ma up and hug her tight. My eyes close and sting and water, and once they're shut, they don't want to open.

"Please, Dusty," she whispers.

With unsteady hands, I remove Mom's fingers from my shirt and walk away. The forkful of food in my stomach is making me ache. I'm nauseated and dizzy, and the slut in my back pocket is the only fucking remedy.

_Fuck it. Just do it,_ I tell myself.

.

.

.

I'm in the shower, but I don't even remember climbing the stairs. Hot water beats down on sore muscles and joints, but my skin is so tender it feels like needles. My stomach rolls, and my head is pounding. With one hand on the shower wall, I bend over and heave. Nothing comes out, though. Nothing but acid and spit.

I get out without tripping. Drying myself off hurts more than the water did, so I don't. I dry heave some more, but manage to brush my teeth.

_Just one line. Only enough to make this go away. _

In my room, I can't find my pants.

They're on my bed.

And this feels exactly like falling.

.

.

.

"Open your eyes, please."

She's touching my chest, my arms, my face.

"Please, please..." Baby's crying.

I open up, and Bliss is above me with tiny little tears stuck to her cheeks.

_Those … those are all mine, _I think to myself.

I'm on the floor beside my bed, naked and unheated, and I know this is messed up, and I know I should move, but before I can form a coherent thought or make my body work, my stomach retches. Bella helps me roll onto my side, but like earlier, I have nothing to throw up. It's a lot of pain and a lot of noise, and I'm only scaring my girl.

"You're okay," she says softly, moving hair away from my face.

She sits beside me and rubs my back while my stomach kicks me from the inside.

I grab for her, and she lets me. She allows me to pull her down and hold her under, and does nothing to fight back. Bella, halfway tucked under my heavy weight, hugs me just as strongly as I'm clutching onto to her.

"Tell me what to do," she says.

"It hurts," I say. And she knows, because this isn't the first time.

"I know it does," she whispers, wiping sweat from my forehead.

With my cheek pressed against her chest, my tears soak through her cotton shirt. I grip and force and overpower, and cry, "I need it, B. I need it."

"No more, Edward," she pleads softly, with so many tears. "Just try."

I'm asking her to get my pants. "Please find _her," _I whine.

Bella doesn't get up, and she doesn't hesitate to say no.

I ask over and over and over again, and I'm being too loud, and I'm hurting her. I literally crawl up her body, scratching and bruising, ignoring her evident pain.

"Okay. _Shh_—be quiet." Bella tries to move away from me, but I pin her wrists down and slide between her legs.

"Don't leave. Don't leave me!" I'm crying, and my stomach, and my skin … and I want to close my eyes.

"I won't," she says. "I would never."

.

.

.

We're in bed, and I don't know how she got me off the bedroom floor. I try to open my eyes but the room spins. It's better than it was when I fell, but I'm too hot and too cold and crying and itching and uneasy. I want to crawl out of my skin, like every bone in my body was broken and re-set. The rush in my blood hurts. My open pores ache. My teeth are sore. Breathing stings and pangs. Being awake isn't an option.

Bella's behind me, with her chin on my shoulder and her arm over my chest, and she makes this manageable.

"For me, Edward," she whispers in my ear. "Try, for me."

I nod, even though I don't completely know what I'm agreeing to. But as soon as I do, Cocaine is screaming and twisting and pleading her case.

.

.

.

I don't leave my room the next day, but I'm unstill.

I'm under the covers; I'm on top of the covers. I'm on the floor; I'm in the shower. I'm smoking a cigarette; I'm smoking a bowl. I'm on the phone with B, yelling, "Why the fuck are you making me do this?"

I'm calling her back, apologizing.

I'm in my clothes; I'm out of them. I'm hungry; I can't even think about eating.

I'm feeling better.

I'm feeling so much worse.

I'm throwing my phone because it won't stop ringing. I'm telling my mom to leave me the fuck alone because she won't stop knocking. I'm putting my phone back together because my girl might be calling.

I'm looking for _her_, because I know she's here somewhere._ Bliss won't know,_ I tell myself. _She won't be able to tell. _

I'm coming undone along with my room. I'm turning dresser drawers upside down and searching the pockets of every pair of pants I own. I'm looking through my shoes and my shirts and my hoodies and my backpack. I'm tossing papers and lifting my mattress. I'm in the bathroom, and I know—I fucking know: Bliss flushed my slut again.

I'm on the floor, crying and struggling. I'm alone and gutless. I'm torn. I'm powerless. I'm in love.

_One more time. One more time and I'm done. _

I'm looking for my phone so I can call Dimitri. I'm coming up with excuses to give Bliss.

My phone rings before I dial, and it's my girl, and I have nothing—no self-justification.

I hear her voice, and it's almost as good as coke.

"I'm thinking about you, you know," she says calmly.

I'm crying, and she knows, but baby doesn't say anything. She just talks.

"I wanted to leave school so bad," she says, this time with a smile in her tone.

She continues to soothe me with her voice.

"And I'm probably a bad friend, because I hardly said two words to Alice all day." Baby sighs.

I think I hear a car door close from outside, but probably not.

"Then Alice tells me she won't be home tonight." Bella says softly. "She has plans."

Shirtless, I lie back on the bathroom floor, and the cool tiles feel so good on my overheated skin. I put Bella on speaker and place the phone on my stomach and listen.

"She said she was going to Seattle with your parents, and they won't be back until tomorrow morning."

I extend my arms at my sides. I close my eyes.

"So, after school, I called my parents," Bella says.

Tears fall down my temples into my hair.

"I told them I was staying the night with my best friend," she whispers softly.

My bedroom door opens.

So do my eyes.

And she's here.

Bella appears in the doorway and hangs up the phone. She pulls off her sweater and kicks off her shoes. She steps out of her leggings and loosens her hair from its braid. My girl comes into the bathroom and lies beside me in nothing but pink lace and black cotton. She doesn't say a word, but she wipes my tears away and runs her fingers through my hair until I fall asleep.

_Love is loving you with my whole heart._

.

.

.

On Thursday, time passes in the same way, but it's not so … bleak.

I sleep until noon, and after my eyes are open and I'm aware, I stay in bed for another hour. When I can't stand the feel of sweat-soaked cotton on my skin for another moment, I get up and take a shower. My head throbs, but it's more of an irritating tapping than the pounding I experienced the day before. My entire body aches and complains, but it's bearable. I brush my teeth, shave my face and comb my hair.

My eyes are the cleanest blue they've been in a year.

I step over clothes and trash, and I can't believe I did this to my room again. I put on a pair of boxers and check my phone. Ignoring anyone that isn't Bliss, I check her messages first.

_Hey, sleep-all-day boy,_ she sent. _I wore your sweater to school again. _

_It smells like you, _the next message says.

_It feels like you,_ says the one after that.

_I can't wait until it is you. _

I sniff, clearing my still raw-passages, and out of nowhere, craving hits me like a motherfucking train, and nothing baby types in her honeyed little messages matters anymore. My mind turns one-tracked, and it hurts … and it's so fucking unreal. I can taste _her _on the back of my throat, and feel _her _in my sinuses. And it would be so easy. One phone call is all it would take to get the most cravable kind of disgusting.

I open the top drawer of my night stand and toss my phone in. I smoke, and it alleviates some of the urge.

To drown out cocaine's calling, I turn up Nirvana, and to keep myself busy, I clean my room. I slip my dresser drawers where they belong and fold every shirt, pair all of my socks, and toss whatever doesn't fit me anymore into a pile in front of my bedroom door. Next, I go through my closet, and after my closet is done, I clean everything out from under my bed. I trash all of the junk from my computer desk and pull my bedding from my mattress.

I feel lighter once it's all done, and when I look at the clock, a couple of hours have passed and the craving is nothing but a tame rustle.

With an armful of dirty sheets, I finally leave my room. I pass by my sister, who didn't go to school today, and she's lying on her bed, talking on the phone. I can't hear what she's saying, but her too-bright smile is a dead fucking give away. Her pink and purple hair is tied up on the top of her head, and her green bangs are covering her eyes. She's laughing, and I smirk and walk by without a word.

The girl we've been lying to is a liar, too.

Down in the laundry room, I fill the washing machine with detergent and water and shove my bedclothes in. It might be too full, but whatever.

I have a small appetite, so I head to the kitchen and grab an apple from the fruit basket. I lean against the counter and kind of, sort of look around. I still feel like I'm recovering from a really bad hangover, but everything is quieter, slower, and more calm. It's as if I can finally just be for the first time in a very long time. I don't feel like I have to leave, or be somewhere just to keep my head semi-straight. The urge to run is gone.

I bite into the green apple and the sour taste waters my eyes and curves my lips. At the same time, the washing machine begins to make a loud knocking noise. I take another bite and ignore it. Third bite in, I throw the apple out because it's too much to handle. Just as I'm dropping the top to the trash can, my Mom comes rushing down the stairs.

"Dammit, Alice!" she yells, turning toward the laundry room.

I follow her down the hall since she didn't see me. I cross my arms and lean against the door frame. Mom opens the washer and the spinning stops. She reaches in and pulls out my dark gray sheets.

"What the—" she whispers, dropping them back in.

I clear my throat. With wet hands, she turns and looks.

She _really_ looks.

Mom's shoulders sink, and her defensive posture eases. She was gearing up for a fight, but instead she saw blue eyes.

"I did some laundry," I say.

The left side of her lips lift in a small smile, but she turns away and starts pulling pillow cases and blankets out of the tub. "You can't put so much in at once."

"Sorry," I say.

Mom drops wet bedding in a laundry basket and closes the washer lid. She dries her hands and says, "You didn't go to school today?"

I shake my head.

"Are you..." she starts, unsure.

But before she asks anything I'm not ready to answer, I cut in. "I have some clothes that need to be dropped off at the Goodwill. Can you do that for me?"

Mom stands tall. "Yes."

As the rest of the afternoon and evening pass, the cravings come and go; some stronger than others. I keep myself occupied: I smoke, I clean my bathroom, I make plans with B, and I talk to my sister.

"You might not get into a school in California," I told her before dinner. We were in her room. I was laying on her bed, and she was in front of her mirror, putting Neosporin on her cut-up-from-skating knees.

Alice rolled her eyes. "I worked too hard _not_ to get into California, Dusty."

"Where did you even apply?" I asked.

"Everywhere," she said, like a dream.

The conversation turned to Bliss, and my sister's unease about my girl really showed.

"She's so fucking small-town," my baby sister said. "And, like, how am I ever supposed to trust her?"

"She's your best friend, Ally," I said.

"Yeah, and best friends aren't supposed to lie. Best friends aren't supposed to make plans and ditch those plans." Alice shook her head, and I got it, because Bella abandoned our plans, too.

"We were just … supposed to go," Alice said, tossing the ointment. "But she's so fucking—good."

"You've never lied to her?" I asked, but I already knew the answer.

Alice's cheeks blushed; she's not as good as keeping her secret as my girl is. Alice can't look at a person and lie like Bella can. Alice is shifty and nervous, but my girl, she's a flawless liar. Such a trickster.

"Not the point," Alice answered. "But no, not really. Not about this." She turns away from me.

"Maybe we're just too different. I mean, it was fine before, but now … it's just not working out," my little sister said, picking up a magazine to keep her hands busy.

Liar. Her position screamed untruth.

But she's right, they're too different.

.

.

.

A little after eleven, Bella calls me to say her parents are in bed.

On the drive over to her house, I'm accompanied by a nervousness I'm not used to. I park down the street from B's house, but after I walk away from my car, I walk back and park on the block over.

I'm convinced someone is going to notice my Lincoln.

The back door to her house never squeaked before, but it does this time. I stop, halfway in the kitchen and halfway out, and when I don't hear anyone, I step in as fast as I can and close the door as quietly as possible.

I bump into the kitchen table.

"Fuck," I whisper, catching myself.

I'm a troubled wreck, and it's like the walls are closing in on me. I swear, one wrong move and Charlie will open his bedroom door and shoot my fucking head off. My heartbeat is in my throat, and my hands are sweaty. The stairs creak, and I almost lose my cool when the ice-maker drops ice—like I'm some fucking pussy.

By the time I make it to Bella's room, I'm sweaty and paranoid and ready to smoke a bowl.

Then I see my girl, and I'm okay.

.

.

.

I get up to leave a few hours later, long before her parents are due to wake. Baby wants to walk me to the door, but her tired heart and too-rested muscles keep her eyes from opening completely.

"Don't leave," she whispers through the dark. She smiles, but the rest of her remains sunk and sleepy under cozy blankets and sheets that smell like us.

I kiss under her ear. I kiss her temple. I kiss the back of her head. I get out of bed, and she whines.

"I'll be back for you," I say quietly, pulling the comforter over her back, covering where I was just a second before.

I can hear the rain through the window and smell it through the air vent, mixed with dust and the slightest hint of natural gas. Warm, artificial air gets rid of the chill and makes it so homelike in here.

Even though I don't want to go, leaving the house is easier than coming in. I walk past the chief's door and don't think twice about him and his wife sleeping on the other side. I take the steps down to the living room like I normally do, and I don't bump into the kitchen table. The back door still squeaks, but I'm outside, walking around the side of the house before anyone inside would even realize they heard anything at all.

Love is confidence.

With my hands in my pockets and my hoodie-hood up, I'm drenched by the time I reach my car; untouched, unseen, and missing my girl like crazy.

I spend the day differently than I have the last two: I go to school, I go to conditioning, and I do what I'm told. I master my swing—slow and steady. I'm patient, accountable, and still. I don't run.

"Practice makes perfect, Cullen," coach says.

"I already was," I say, joking.

He chuckles and pats me on the back. "You damn kids don't know shit."

I call Bliss on my way home.

"I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm so ready!" she says, speaking about our plans for her birthday. We've been waiting all week.

I laugh, driving into Forks' town limits. "You don't think it's too cold, baby? We could—"

"No!" she shouts. "No. We're doing this."

"Yeah, okay. Let me go home and shower, and I'll be there in an hour."

.

.

.

Forty minutes later, with a clean black hoodie and a New York hat tugged over damp hair, I pull up to the front of her house and Bella comes running out with her pink pillow and white backpack. She's wearing my hoodie under her black jacket and a pair of yellow skinnies that aren't warm enough for how cold it is.

She gets into the car and tosses her things in the back. My girl kisses me all over my face and whispers, "Drive," over my lips.

Bella sits back and puts her seat belt on. I light a cigarette, crack my window, and turn the stereo on low. I scroll through my iPod until I get to my girl's playlist. Down-level beats and sultry lyrics that hit too close to home fill the cab of my car. Bella reaches forward and turns the volume up a little more. She leans her head back and taps her fingers in the air along with the tune.

Strawberry-blonde whispers the words, _"I will love you 'til the end of time."_

_._

_._

_._

We drive to La Push and park in front of the grocery store, and I don't think we're far enough away for this, but my girl needs sugar. She can't go all night without it,she said. She'll die. Renee found her candy stash yesterday and tossed out her chocolate.

I hand her some cash. "Just go in, babe."

Baby covers her head with her borrowed-from-me hood and pulls the strings tight, tying them in a bow. Red-blonde bangs, damp from the rain stick to her forehead. She's all eyes and nose and smile, and kind of, sort of hidden, but not at all.

"No one will even know it's me." Bliss laughs.

I look down at her feet. "Yeah," I say with a smirk, "because wedges in October give nothing away."

She wiggles her toes under black leather and brass buckles. "It's my birthday," she teases, smiling under too much cotton.

I turn off the car and unbuckle my seat belt, saying, "It's not your birthday, yet, B."

She opens her door as I open mine. "No one will see us."

It's six o'clock on a Friday night, so of course the entire La Push population is at the fucking grocery store. There are people everywhere: parents, kids, employees. No one I recognize right away, but this town is too small. Chances are we'll run into someone, _and then what?_

With my hands in my pockets, I keep my hat low and my eyes down. Bella's at my side, not skipping a beat while my heart is my fucking throat. She stops and asks some lady who's loading her groceries into the back of her car if we can take her cart. The lady hands it over with a smile, looking right at B.

Now my girl is running ahead of me and the cart's wobbly wheels are zigzagging while they roll too fast. B jumps on and glides all the way to the automatic double doors, holding on tight. I up my step to catch her, and when I do, I turn her around and she kisses me.

And I want it so bad.

_This. _

_Out in public. _

And she is such a fucking tease.

"You're crazy, sway," I say, taking the cart.

The store is brightly lit and warm. The air smells like apples and cinnamon, welcoming the Fall season. A bin of pumpkins is right at my side, and a few kids and their mother dig through, looking for the perfect one to take home. The occasional tacky Halloween decoration hangs from the walls. As we walk deeper into the store, I notice a ghost, a black cat, and a skeleton above different aisles.

That's all I notice, though. I don't look at anyone. My heart is acting all fucking jumpy again. My hands sweat on the cart handle, and I can feel my cheeks turning red. I can't handle this nervousness. It's so fucking brand new and stressful and not me.

_I should have smoked before we came in. _

I stop the cart. We're in the cereal section.

I take off my cap and pull at the front of my hair. "Get what you need, Bliss."

She looks around, still tied in a bow. "I don't need anything here."

I lean my forearms against the cart and drop my head. "I'll wait," I say.

"Edward, no one here knows us," she says lowly, but surely. Her soft little hand touches the back of my neck. She scratches teal painted fingernails into my hair. "And who cares if they do?"

I look up, meeting blue-green eyes so full with uncertain determination. "You do," I answer.

Bella looks away, obviously annoyed and guilty.

"We can leave. Go through a drive-thru or something," she says, avoiding me by looking at each cereal box.

"Bliss," I say, trying to keep my cool. "We're already here."

She walks away. I call after her, but she keeps walking. So I chase her, because it's probably what she wants anyway. When I catch her at the end of the aisle, I circle my arms around her stomach and press my lips onto the side of her throat. I spin her around and force her to walk back toward the cart. People look, but my attention is on my girl.

"I just want a chocolate milk." She laughs.

"We'll get you a chocolate milk," I say, lifting her legs. I set her inside the cart and tell her to stay down while I push. "Hide," I say.

"I am, jerk." She smiles.

My girl drinks a Yoo-Hoo out of a straw and tells me what she wants as we go up and down each aisle. Boxes of junk food and juices pile at her feet: Twinkies and licorice and Capri-Suns. I take baby though the produce section and she makes a face. I throw in a couple of apples, anyway.

"That stuff will kill you," she jokes.

By the time we make it to the register, I'm not too worried about being seen. The check-out lady scopes me and Bliss like we're crazy, but my girl is sitting in the cart up to her knees in trans-fat, so I don't blame her.

"You'll never eat all of this, B," I say on our walk back to the car.

Baby searches through the bags and finds her box of Whoppers. She opens the seal and pops one in her mouth. "Watch me," she says with a wink. She crunches chocolate malt between her teeth.

Just outside the Lincoln, still inside the cart, Bella hands me the bags and I toss them into the trunk. She's pulled her hoodie down, leaving her hair static-high and messy.

"We can get a room somewhere," I offer one more time.

She hands me the last grocery bag, shaking her head. "No."

I lift my girl out of the cart and kick it toward the curb.

.

.

.

The sun goes down as we drive toward the beach, and the momentarily clear sky turns blue, then pink, then purple and orange, before fading to black. By the time we park, clouds have come and covered the stars. The scent of rain is heavy in the air, tied with ocean salt and sand. We stay in the car for a while, with the windows rolled down and the music on low. Finishing her box of candy, Bella has her head leaned on my shoulder. I can feel it in my bones as she chews.

Between mouthfuls, my girl drifts in and out of small talk, and a conversation that was originally about birthday plans for tomorrow shifts into a small disagreement about college. Again.

"It's not what I had in mind, B," I say, lighting a cigarette with my green Bic. I hold the flame to the end of my smoke and inhale until paper burns and tobacco turns cherry red. Smoke fills my lungs and car, but quickly flows out the open window.

"You and your sister both," Bella says defensively.

I don't want to fight with her. Not now. Not today. Not really.

Old habits die hard, though. "Calm down, little girl," I say. "It's too fucking late, anyway."

She wants to hit me, and I want to use.

I clear the burn from my throat and puff on my cigarette until my lungs feel like they catch fire. Bella tosses the empty Whopper box onto the floor and pushes away from me.

"Pick it up, B," I say, still puffing.

Her eyes are alert and booming, centered on me, and her nostrils flare like they do when she's angry. My pretty little princess girl, sunny side, strawberry-blonde, so spirited with frustration. It feeds half of my addiction and gives enough to take the edge off.

"I won't be eighteen for another twelve months, Edward," she argues, "and do you really think—"

I cut her off, turning my head toward her. "Do you? Did you think at all about me, Bliss?"

Baby shakes her head in disbelief. She's sitting on the very opposite end of the bench seat. "You can transfer to Northwest in a year."

I laugh before taking another drag from my cigarette and flicking the butt out the window. "Yeah, because I have so much interest in a fucking Christian school."

"My parents won't let me move out just because I graduate high school, Edward. I didn't have—"

I close my eyes and breathe, calming myself. "Don't you fucking dare say you didn't have a choice, Bella."

"You don't understand," she ends the argument with.

But she's said it herself—_What's a year?_

Bella may think she cut us loose early, but she only sentenced us to four more.

She'll see.

.

.

.

We're the only ones on the shore and it doesn't take a genius to guess why. The windchill coming in from the ocean is bone-shivering, and the echo of thunder in the distance guarantees more rain. There's electricity in the air, and it's not only from B and I.

Charlie and Renee Swan's blissful wonder is supposed to be sleeping safe and sound in my sister's bed tonight, not catching pneumonia under the clouds with a secret she shouldn't be keeping.

Bliss unfolds and lays our blanket flat onto the sea-sprinkled dock. The same aged boat dock that's been our stomping ground since we were old enough to get away for a while. Abandoned school days, late late nights, too early mornings, and prom. This wood knows us. It carries our names carved in its panels. It's heard our conversations, seen our bodies, and kept our secrets. Like my bedroom, this place is dependable.

Baby unbuckles her shoes and takes them off one at a time. She drops each one on a different corner of the blanket so the breeze doesn't lift it. Then she zips her jacket up, but leaves the hoodie hood down. I give her my hat and hope it helps a little. The bill falls over her eyes, and she looks so fucking pretty when she looks at me from under it.

"If you get sick and die, I'm killing you," I say, speaking for the first time since our disagreement in the car.

She pushes my arm and scoffs, but her eyes are so soft and forgiving. "It's not that cold, overprotective boy."

It's really not, and I'm probably overreacting, but this is my girl, so I give her the jacket I brought anyway.

Bella sits between my knees with her back against my chest and uses my coat to cover her legs and bare toes. The wind has died down, so the air doesn't seem so cold, but the rain is more near and the thunder is louder. The waves hit the rocks with more force, and the sky is pitch dark and taunting, promising a downpour. And with the exception of the moving water, the night is silent and serene.

_The calm before the storm. _

Bella's cheeks are reddened; she says it's because she's too bundled and warm, but I know it's from the low temperature. My girl is determined, though. When I ask one more time if she wants to leave, she refuses and settles in, sinking further into me.

I brought some of her sugar out with us, but it goes untouched in bags at our sides. My girl turns her head and kisses under my jaw. We hold hands, and she smiles. Any ill feelings from earlier are gone and we just are. We're just here, together without distraction.

Love is wishing I could have this moment for life.

"Best birthday ever," Bella whispers.

I kiss the top of her shoulder and nod.

Baby stretches her legs and her feet push out from under my jacket. She wiggles dark purple painted toes and turns herself so that her shoulder presses into my chest and her face hides in my neck. She inhales and smiles against my skin.

"Do you remember when we were younger and your dad had that charity thing here?" she asks. Her lips brush over my jaw. Bella's hot breath raises my skin and skips my heartbeat.

I know exactly what she's talking about. I remember everything about this girl—I know her by heart. She was under street lights, lying to me about where my sister was. Even then she was good at being untruthful, my little white liar. But I've always seen through her. I knew what she was doing, and I wanted her too; I wanted her away from Alice, as my own. So I told her to come with me. I told her we didn't pull wings from butterflies.

I was lying, too.

"You made me smell your shirt." She laughs, moving her face away from my throat to look up at me.

I smirk and nod. She told me I smelled like dirty clothes. I loved her. Even then. Especially then.

"You had Garrett's sweater on," I remind her, kissing the tip of her nose.

Baby rolls her eyes with a disregarding simper. "You were grass and vanilla scented—_trouble,_" she says. "You've always smelled like difficulty to me, Dusty."

I rub my lips across her right cheek and whisper in her ear, "That was a long time ago, princess."

"Nothing's changed," she says. Bella sits up straight, crossing her legs. My arms fall from her body, but I pull her back. She can't take herself from me.

She couldn't then, and she can't now.

"Watch out for bed knobs," she says. Her eyes fill up, but she doesn't cry.

"What?" I ask, holding a little firmer. She might run, but I have her. She won't get far.

"You wrote it on Alice's shoe." Bella tries to free her arm from my grip, but I won't be undone.

I hook my arm around her stomach and press her entire body against mine. With one arm around her middle, I use the other to pin hers at her sides. I hide my face in her neck and breathe in. Bella tilts her head back and turns her face into mine, too. She nips at my ear; she groans into my skin.

"I wanted that so bad," she says, like it's painful to recollect. Like the memory slices her throat.

I hold her tighter, and I know I'm narrowing her lungs beneath rib bones, but love is illogical at best.

When you have love like this, who the fuck needs air?

We survive off this shit alone.

"I wanted bed knobs. I wanted something that was just ours. So I went to your room," she says.

The hat falls from her head and lands on the blanket. Red-blonde hair is stuck to her forehead. Bella tries to shift her way out of my arms, but I'm not letting go. She elbows me in the stomach, but I only grip closer. With her back completely against me, she arches but gets nothing.

I kiss the side of her face. "Stop, stop, stop..."

"Your pillows used to make me sleepy," she says. "Those sleepy, trouble-sweet pillows."

I remember her sleeping on the bedroom floor while the boys and I dipped into mischief. I used to watch her from the corner of my eye. I loved her there. I loved her with us … with me.

"Edward," she groans, but doesn't panic. "I can't breathe." Her face gets red; she twists and jerks and turns, but I give her nothing.

"I can't," I say, under the thunder. I don't even know if she hears me. "I can't. Just stop."

Bella gives me everything she has. She uses her legs to try to lift. Baby bites the side of my throat. She thrashes and screams into the so-close-to-storming night. But when nothing works, she gives up, and I'm still there, holding her down with heavy love.

"I made so many excuses for you. _It's an Edward thing._" She scoffs. "When everyone finds out about us, do you know how stupid I'm going to look?"

My betrayals surface: Victoria, Mixie, Charlotte, Bree, Lolita … so many more. Some I can't remember. Most I don't remember.

_Her. Her. Her. Her__._

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so fucking sorry," I kiss her cap-creased forehead. I kiss over her watery eyes. I let go of her arms and grip her chin so I can turn her head and kiss her lips.

She kisses me back.

Lightning strikes and cracks, and the entire world turns silver.

She's kissing to deflect, though. Bella forces my arm away from her stomach and she turns in my arms. On her knees between my legs, her lips are so fucking soft and cry-salty—from her ... from me.

We kiss with our eyes open, and hers tell the story of us: untimely, slippery, maybe, love, sugary bed sheets, lust … so much fucking lust; treason, hiding, love, struggling, stupid … so fucking stupid; fists, dependence, love, rebelling, lying, lying, lying … so many fucking lies; judging, scheming, concealing, love, rejecting, subjecting, affecting, sex … so much fucking sex; holding, gripping, keeping, hoarding.

Love … so much fucking love.

Breaking … always fucking breaking.

I move my lips enough for the both of us. I kiss over and under hers. I kiss this girl hard and deep. I lick her teeth and suck on her lips. I slide, glide, linger and slip. I turn her tongue with mine and kiss her dirty. I kiss her until she can only breathe out of her nose. I kiss her until she can't breathe at all. I kiss her until the corner of her mouth splits.

I kiss her until her eyes close.

"I love you," I say against swollen lips.

"I love you more," she whispers.

"I loved you first." I kiss the reddened corner of her lips.

"I love you always," she says breathlessly.

I smile against her cheek. "I love you crazy."

.

.

.

In the backseat of the Continental, the car windows are foggy and the cab is filled with an orange-yellow tinge from the street light we're parked under. Rain comes down in sheets, tapping on the hood of my Lincoln. Lightning strikes and thunder rolls, but it's nothing compared to my girl. She's alive and raw, in the middle of our own storm system.

"Love me, love me, love me," she sings, arching her back and tilting her head.

The left side of her body is shadowed, but the right side is so lit up and real. Under this light, my girl's hair has never been so red and her eyes have never been so green. Her voice has never been this bare. Her words have never been this honest. She's pouring legitimacy and roaring trueness. All of our walls are down and she's rigorous, demanding answers.

Bella rolls her hips, riding my cock and rough handling my heart.

"Did any of them fuck you like this?" she whispers in my ear with an unmistakable edge in her tone.

I drop my head back against the seat and hold onto her sides while she circle, circle, circles. I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe through tight teeth. Her lips are beside my ear, her chest is pressed against mine, and my dick is as far in as God will allow.

"Did it feel like this?" Bella asks, her voice thick with sex.

Baby's nipples harden and brush my chest and she strokes up and down my dick. She places her hand on the side of my neck and moves her lips from my ear to my mouth. So-red hair curtains and surrounds us, bringing us that much closer. Making her words that much more severe.

"Could you not even stop yourself every time you were in someone that wasn't me?" she asks.

My eyes open and my hands tighten on her sides. She whimpers, but the vulnerability is gone just as fast as it came. Bella lifts at her knees and falls hard; her bottom slaps on my thighs and her clit rubs on my pelvis.

With my left hand holding hard on her hip, I push my right up the length of her spine until my fingertips touch the nape of her neck. I tangle and grip and pull, locking my fingers in her hair. I hold until she cries out and rides deeper. I guide her head back, and when her neck is completely exposed, I sink my teeth into the made-just-for-me place right above her collar bone.

Baby cries out and clings. No longer able to move by herself, I lift my hips from the seat and thrust into her as she comes. I bite until I taste princess blood. I bite until she's screaming my name, battling the fucking thunder for power.

I stroke hard, and I stroke full; I fuck her until my cock and my love are the only things in her world—until her mind is blank, and all that is left is me.

With one last, long moan, Bella goes slack … but I don't stop pushing. I hold her weight and fuck mine into her. Baby's head falls back, pulling her collarbone away from my mouth. Open teeth marks bead the tiniest bits of blood. I lean forward and lick them away.

Using the last of her effort, baby circles her arms around my neck and keeps us close, forcing me to slow. Lighting hits the ocean, illuminating the car, turning yellow-orange light chrome.

Bella's eyes are back on mine, but they tell a different story now. One that splits my chest and bares my soul: wonder, credence, adoration, happiness, playfulness … so much playfulness; belonging, hope, trust, sacrifice … so many sacrifices; mercy, compassion, softness and love, love, love … always so much love; understanding, knowing, forgiving … forever forgiving.

"How could you give this away?" she whispers through tear coated lips. "How could this belong to anyone but us?"

I gently hold her closer, shaking my head with can't-be-told-with-words disagreement. I kiss her softly and move my hips easily. I brush my fingers over teeth marks and apologize over and over and over.

"Can you feel me?" I whisper into her skin. "Can you feel what you do to me?"

Baby wraps and grips, hooking her legs around my lower back and arms almost too tightly around my neck. She cries out, nodding her head. Our sticky-wet bodies push and rub and press together.

It begins in my fingers, tingles that wave from tips to knuckles, to joints, up tendons and through my wrists. Chills travel through my elbows to my shoulders, up my neck to my face. My cheeks numb and I feel them redden. My eyes close and squeeze. My lips pout and my eyebrows draw together. Shivers travel over my heart and swim in my stomach, going lower … further hardening my cock.

Pressure builds. Fire rages. I move my girl rougher. I thrust, stroke, circle, push. I moan into her chest. I cry out because it's too fucking good. It's too fucking much. It's too fucking...

"Fuck," I barely breathe.

I shake. I always do.

Bella throws her head back. I kiss under her jaw, opening my eyes to watch this way.

She has no idea. She has no concept of how much I love her. To be like this. To mark her this way—the only way one person can mark another from the inside. To fill her up. To know that after, I'm still there. She holds a part of me in her body. Only ever me.

My back curves into her and I press my face into the space between baby's neck and shoulder. We hold tight. So fucking close, leaving no space between us. Only us. On the inside and out.

My girl begs for it. She screams, "Please, please, please..."

I fall.

The shaking stops and there's only Bella.

Only this.

"_Baby, baby, baby … my girl, my girl, my girl,"_ I roughly moan, coming into her.

I push with short, deep thrusts. My heart stops beating, my lungs stop working. I can't see, but I can feel. I can feel myself flowing and filling. Warm. Warm. Warm. Soft. Soft. Soft. And she takes me, whispering, _I love you, I love you, I love you._

My body is wound up and binding, turn, turn, turning, until I'm so fucking high. And this feels better than anything. I'm light. I'm fulfilled. I'm complete.

When she's full and I'm empty, I come crashing down. Shaking again, crying, refusing … stashing and keeping.

"Never," I say. "Never like this, Bliss. … Only you. There's only ever been you."

.

.

.

Sitting against the door, farthest to the right in the backseat, my girl is coiled up beside me, with her head on my lap and her prayer-like hands under my left thigh. We've been like this four hours, quiet and thoughtful through the storm. Late night passed and early morning arrived. Bliss might have fallen asleep for a little while, but I've been wide awake and repentant—questioning my authenticity and hoping I'm strong enough to do what baby needs me to.

Because it doesn't feel like it.

And I can feel _everything._

All of it.

_She's _still in me, under my skin, scratching at me from the inside, ripping me up. She chews on veins and kicks my heart, chanting, _listen to me! _

I press my hand over my life-beat and push pressure until her bombardment stops.

With a change in tactic, my dirty habit sweetly tiptoes on bones, pleading false promises.

_Don't make me sad,_ she says. _Let's go get high._

_I promise this is the last time. _

I sit up and clear my throat. I run my hand through my hair. I sniff.

Bella reaches for my hand and holds it over her heart. It helps.

Slightly.

I press my cheek against the misty window and keep it there until the glass is warmed by my heat. I pull my hand from B and reach for my jeans. My pack falls from the back pocket.

I can't find my lighter.

I groan.

Bella sits upright. "Here," she says, handing it to me.

I take it without meeting her storytelling blue-greens and light my smoke.

Cocaine plays with my hair. _You like girls insane,_ she teases.

Bella slips my hoodie over her naked body and curls her feet under her bottom. I roll the window all the way down, needing the icy October air on my face.

"Are you okay?" she asks carefully.

_He will be. _

I take another drag and smile at my girl. "Yeah," I say, still avoiding her eyes.

Baby settles in next to me. She extends her legs and stretches before propping her feet on the back of the front seat. Still sleepy, she yawns, and it breaks my fucking heart. Every move she makes kills.

_It's because she shouldn't be here, motherfucker. _

I try to remember the last time I looked at my girl through unaddicted eyes.

It's been years. I've been lit, guilty, spun, drunk-wasted the entire time. Every day. Through each_ I love you,_ through each touch, through each _don't ever leave me_. All the affection I have ever showed this girl has been habit-stained. It's never just been me. Ever. Cocaine has always been there. And before coke, it was bud or E, or shots of Jameson on my bedroom floor.

I've been dragging her though my bullshit for _years, _doing what I need to do to keep her, saying what I need to say to make sure she's always around. I dump all of my misuses on Bella because she's the only one who can carry them and still love me the same.

After everything I've done, she forever loves me back.

I take another drag from my smoke and pull at the front of my hair.

_Fuck, Fuck, Fuck._

I love her too hard.

I love her unsafe.

I love her to the brink.

Dope sick and tipped, I'm looking at her, and she's so small. She's a seventeen-year-old girl, cluttered with scars, manipulated into loving me. My stigma is all over her. I'm all over her. She never even had a chance against a monster like me.

I influenced her.

I sought and took.

I tricked her into loving me, because I did love her first.

I took advantage.

I've hurt her.

I just made her bleed.

_That's not the first time. _Cocaine smiles.

I've been with other girls, and I've chosen drugs—

_I can make this go away, Dusty. _

"Bliss,"I whisper with a throat lodged full of regret. I shake my head in an attempt to clear too many thoughts. I can think straight. I haven't had to think with a straight mind in so long.

"Hey," she says soothingly, brushing my too long hair away from my eyes. Baby smiles and my insides constrict. "Tell me," she says.

I clear my throat. "Princess," I say, brimming with anxiety and regret and self-disgust and _how could she let me do this to her?_

Bella moves in closer. My body turns toward her and submits to her touch. Now I have my head in her lap, but my hands are not pray-like, they're clutching and grabbing and pushing and moving.

_Remember how bad you fucked up last year?_ Cocaine laughs, tickling my side.

Quick memories of snorting coke off toilet seats and walking for miles flash through my mind. Those days passed in a blur … and it all ended with a unnamed, faceless fuck.

Lo.

_Funny, because Bella knew who she was before you did._

"Fuck," I moan into B's stomach.

Baby rubs my back and speaks quietly. "Tell me, Edward. Tell me..."

She turns my head with her hands on the side of my face, forcing me to be still, giving me no other choice but to look at her.

"I'm clean. I'm clean," I cry.

Looking at her is too hard. It's all there, on every part of her—our whole relationship. It's in the guilt behind her eyes, and in the purple below them. It's explained in her bitten-too-low fingernails, and in the dark bruises I kissed on her neck. It's in her cut lip and tangled hair. It's her sleeping in the back of this car when she should be at home in her bed. It's how she knows how to talk to me, a drug addict on a week long comedown. It's in the way she touches me, just right. It's in the life she's thrown away for this. It's in her uncertain future. It's in her broken friendship with Alice. It's in every lie she keeps.

It's in her beating-for-me heart.

It's in me, able to ignore all of it because I've been too fucked up to care.

And now I'm clean.

But I don't know how I can stay this way.

"Where are the keys?" Bella asks. She lets go of my face and searches around the car. She looks under my shirt and under the seat.

They're on the dash where I threw them earlier.

I assume she's going to jump up front and drive, and I'm hoping she sends us right into the fucking ocean. Instead, she starts the engine and flips on the heater. She climbs back over me and rolls the window up. Then she takes off her sweater.

Bella kisses my bare chest, over my kicked-too-hard heart. The simple touch lights me up and shuts coke down.

"Scoot," she says with a sweet smile, tapping my shoulder.

Against better judgment, I do. She lies beside me, skin-to-skin. Baby opens her arms, and I lie my head on her unclothed chest and melt. I sink and dissolve.

.

.

.

She's salty kisses and sandy toes.

My girl sits behind me now, and I let her be. It's her birthday, and maybe I need the support, anyway. Bella has her legs draped around my waist and her arms around my stomach. With lips pressed into the back of my cotton covered shoulder, baby's eyes barely peek over the top. We're watching the sky, waiting for the sun.

It's ten past way too early in the fucking morning—six or seven perhaps. The car got too small, so we got dressed and got out. It's warmer today than it was yesterday. The wind is gone and the sky is mostly clear. Last night's storm left the sand packed and firm, keeping our footprints stamped until it dries. Driftwood litters the beach shore, and the waves stole our blanket but left Bella's shoes on the dock.

We're still the only ones on the beach, but it won't be this way for long. Every weekend First Beach hosts a town-wide flea market. Soon, this place will be filled with people looking to sell, trade, and buy, and we'll have to go.

She's silent and sweet as the closest and hottest star rises. Bella rubs the back of my neck and twirls my hair around her fingers. She whispers things in my ear like, "_You were so fucking sexy last night,"_ and "_Do you know what your smile does to me? It knocks me out. It sends me flying." _

So I do it. I smile.

She doesn't fly, but she stands up and wipes sand from her bottom. "Take me over there and buy me something for my birthday, you knockout."

A few vendors arrived while Bliss and I were watching the start of her birthday ascent. Baby doesn't seem so concerned about being seen, and after the night we had, I really don't give a fuck either. With a quick stop by the car for some cash, we head toward the market hand-in-hand.

I buy my girl a hot chocolate and let her lead me around. Most are still setting up, but there are a few booths that are open. I bought her the teal Ray-Bans she asked for earlier this week, but I'm not in the business of denying this girl anything she wants anymore. As she points out different items, I pull out the funds and make all of her birthday wishes happen.

We get a few funny looks. We're barefoot and morning-messy. Bella's wearing my basketball shorts and sweater, and I'm dressed in rolled up jeans, wearing a tee shirt that's pulled out at the neck. Bella's is hidden, but my kissed purple neck is showing, and these people know.

Two knit beanies, a scarf, and an Indian blanket later, Bella's stomach growls, but she doesn't want to eat here. On the walk back to the car, we pass a vendor selling vintage jewelry. My girl doesn't pay it much mind; instead she's wrapping her new garment around her neck. But I call her back, because pearl and pink catches my eye.

I point it out, and Bliss smiles.

And yeah, it knocks me out.

"What is it made out of?" I ask the vendor, touching the heart pendant with my fingers.

An older man with dark, wrinkled skin and all gray hair stands beside Bella and I. "Pink Jadeite—the stone of heaven."

I smile.

"Can she try it on?" I ask.

Bella smirks, pulling off the scarf and holding her hair up so I can fasten the necklace around her neck. Pearls lie softly on pale skin, and the pendant touches right below the hollow point between her collar bones.

It's beautiful, so it's hers.

I ask the price and drop a couple of bills on the table when he tells me.

"It's too much," Baby whispers as we walk away, with the symbolism of love and compassion around her neck.

I drape my arm over her shoulder and say, "Never."

.

.

.

We stop at a small diner on the outskirts of La Push on our way home. We're playing with fate, but still, neither one of us cares enough to hide. I park the Lincoln in the back and put my hood up since Bliss is wearing my hat again. She's slipped back into her yellow skinnies and put her feet into storm-soaked wedges. I've unrolled my jeans and zipped up a kind of, sort of clean sweater I had in the trunk of my car. We look better than we did on the beach, but sex and love are still smeared all over us.

"Do you care if I smoke?" I ask shamefully. She knows I'm not talking about tobacco, and I know she wants me straight.

Her eyes are wary but she shrugs. "I'll go get us a table."

I sit back and light up, and in the far back of my mind, I know this doesn't make me drug free. Smoking is the lesser of my evils, but it's corruptive. It's how this all fucking started. I can't give it all up at once, though. I can't go back to that place I was in the car this morning. It was too much. My mind was wild, and it was just … too fast. I'll take it easy. I'll deal with a habit at a time. Slowly.

_Yeah, right,_ cocaine whispers.

After I smoke, I feel better. My head feels lighter and I'm not so tense. I walk into the restaurant and a bell on the door rings, signaling my presence. I don't know the waitress behind the counter, but she's not much older than I am. She's blonde. Typical. A small town lifer.

"I'll be right with you," she calls, holding a coffee pot. She has a pen keeping her hair up.

I ignore her.

I spot my girl sitting in a booth near the back. Sipping on chocolate milk, she watches me walk her way through relaxed eyes, wearing a small smile. I sit across from love, placing my back against the window. Bella gets up and slides in next to me, settling between my knees. She leans on my chest.

"I ordered cupcakes," she says.

"For breakfast?" I laugh.

Baby nods. "Marshmallow swirl and peppermint sprinkle."

"You're going to get a stomach ache," I say, kissing the side of her head.

"Oh, but I've had one for years." Bella takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. "You smell like pot."

"Like trouble?" I ask, turning the coffee mug on the table upright.

"Just like trouble," Bella says softly, leaning her head back onto my shoulder.

The waitress delivers the cupcakes and pours me some coffee. She asks if I'm hungry, but I don't answer. I'm busy pressing my lips all over my girl, so Bella declines on my behalf. The server pops her gum and walks away.

"Do you know her?" Bella asks, peeling paper from peppermint sugar.

"No," I answer, pulling away long enough to take a drink of my shitty caffeine.

We're quiet while Bella eats. I wipe frosting from her chin, and she takes bites that are too big. She asks me if I think she's fat, and I tell her to shut the fuck up. Baby points out her soft stomach, and I put my hand over it.

"It's mine," I say. "And I love it."

"Some of my jeans from last winter don't fit," she says with a smile. She doesn't care.

"I'll buy you new ones." I clean marshmallow fluff from the tip of her nose.

"Alice told me I have cellulite." She laughs out loud.

I roll my eyes. "Alice is a fucking liar."

Bella stops laughing, and her smile breaks. "She is, right? She's lying to me."

I don't answer right away. Allegiance to my boy seals my lips. We have a loyal, deep rooted friendship, and I would never turn my back on him. He hasn't told me, but I know—I've known. So does Bliss. Neither one of us wants to acknowledge it, though. It would be so fucking partial. Because no matter what … no matter what they're doing, it's not the same. We've lied longer and heavier. Bella and Alice's friendship is dependable, but Bella _used_ Alice, so it's discounted and built on false terms. And now they're lying to us, but Bella _betrayed_ Alice. Bella is the worse person. She's the bad friend. The liar. The backstabber.

This will all fall on her shoulders.

If Petey does know about me and B, he hasn't said anything to Alice. And that's where he and I are different. I love that boy, but I love my girl more. I'm no better than my beautiful liar, and shit like this, I won't keep from her.

When we go down, we'll go together.

"Yeah," I answer, turning my back on my best friend, but opening up to the only person who matters. "She's lying."

Bella nods, crumbling some of her cupcake between her fingers. "Do you think they'll tell us?"

I shrug. "I don't know."

She picks at the rest of her sugar, and I take one more drink of my coffee before I give it up. Our server comes around, checking my cup a couple of times. On her third time by, she drops the check on the table.

"Do you want to go?" I ask.

I have no idea what time it is; my phone is in my car with the power off, and I haven't seen Bella look at hers once. She has a birthday party today, though, so she told her parents she'd be home early. It's always hard being away from each other after we've spent a night together like we have. I wish I could pack her into my car and just drive. I'd put her in the fucking trunk until we were too far to turn around. I'd keep her.

But I can't.

Sometimes love is doing what's right.

_You know what to do, dirty boy._

_Leave her, _the tempter inside whispers softly.

_Take me and leave her. _

_She's too good for you anyway. _

_You've ruined her. Look. _

_Look at her. _

_Look._

I rub my face in the palms of my hands and move Bella away from my chest, looking at her between my fingers. She sits up and dusts cupcake crumbs to the floor. To keep my hands moving, I pick up my coffee mug and drink the cupful. It's hard to swallow and cold, but it washes away some of my anxiety.

I pull out my wallet and leave the cash on the table for the waitress. Bella sits back and sighs.

"Be birthday happy, birthday princess," I say, doing my best to keep my voice even.

My girl turns her head toward me, and I'm waiting for her to scoot out of the fucking booth so we can get out of here, but she smiles instead. Whatever heaviness she was carrying on her shoulders a moment ago drops.

"This time next year will be so different," she says with peppermint twinkles on her curved lips.

I nod. It's all I can offer, because I don't want what she wants for this time next year. I want out of this fucking booth, though. I want to bury myself in a motherfucking hole until cocaine's absence passes. I want her to throw me a fucking bone. I want her to change her mind.

I want a line. I do. So fucking bad. It's so bad right now.

_Can you taste me? Can you?_

"Hey." Baby pushes my shoulder back. "Hey, listen to me," she says, moving herself onto my lap.

My lips curl. They can't help it. I love her weight on me.

"Knocked out," Bella whispers about my smile. "Every time."

This girl … this girl makes me feel so much better. "What are you doing, baby?"

Sunshine brightens her face and dances on her eyelashes. Her eyes are sugar lit, and her lips are stained light pink from the frosting. She's close, so close. I smell our sex on her; it's in her hair and deep in her skin. Her touch is my fucking cure. Everything else falls away, everything but my cupcake girl.

"Be my boyfriend," she says, laughing softly, catching me by surprise.

With my hands on her sides, I push her back far enough to see her face. Baby's cheeks are just-say-yes red and her eyes are tale-telling again: love, love, love, love … fucking love.

She holds my face in her hands. "Do you know what it does to me when you leave?"

I don't answer, but I keep my eyes with hers.

"It kills me," she says. "It feels like dying."

"Sunny side—" I'm about to apologize, but she puts her marshmallow and peppermint scented hand over my mouth.

"Don't apologize." she smiles more. "Just, be my boyfriend."

It's suddenly so simple. She finally wants to be my girlfriend.

I stopped asking a while ago because it seemed irrelevant. We're so far past that, and I'm thinking larger. I'm thinking about forever. 'Til death do us part. That's our future. It's where we're headed. It's mine, and I'll take it. It's ours.

The normalcy is tempting, though. It's like the kiss at the store; I want it.

"Yeah?" I ask, smirking under her hand, meeting her eyes.

"Don't make me wait any longer, heart-buster. Be my boyfriend already." Her tone is playful, and so fucking everything I needed.

I move her palm away from my mouth and kiss her.

This time, she melts.

.

.

.

After I dropped my girlfriend off at home, I drove to my house. Mom asked me where I was; I told her I was at Ben's. She didn't question my answer. She never does. But she did ask me if I knew where Alice was.

"Maybe she's with Bliss," I said.

"No," Mom said, shaking her head. She was on the floor in the living room, wrapping Bella's gifts. "I called Bella."

"I don't know, Ma." I shrugged.

"She'd better not miss Isabella's birthday, Edward." My mom looked up at me after she tied a pink bow around the white wrapped box.

I took a few steps toward the stairs. "She wouldn't," I said with my hand on the rail.

"You never fucking know anymore." She sighed.

Once I was in my room, I sat on my bed and stared at my phone for fifteen minutes. It held the weight of its load. I knew who would be on it if I turned it on. The same people, doing the same shit. Dimitri. And I knew I would call him. There was no doubt in my mind. So I took a shower instead. Then I took a nap. A real, honest nap.

I slept for hours.

When I woke up, my mom was staring at me. She was sitting at the edge of my bed, just watching.

"I love your face when you sleep, Dusty," she said. She ran her fingers though my hair.

I didn't say anything, but I sunk deep into her touch. I closed my eyes and almost fell back asleep, but then she saw my neck.

"Who the fuck did you let do that to you?" she asked, completely taken back and obviously disapproving.

Bella.

I covered my face with my pillow and told her to get out of my room. Mom went on and on about _how I'm living my life_ and _how I need help_ and _how I better not get anyone pregnant,_ and how, how, how.

She was at my closet, throwing clothes on my bed.

"I can get myself dressed, Mom," I said from under the pillow.

"Did you even buy Bella anything, Edward? Are you going to fuck this up too?"

I pointed to my computer desk. The box with baby's sunnies were there.

"You didn't wrap it? You saw me wrapping earlier, Edward." She took the gift and left.

Now I'm back in front of Bella's house, and I'm nervous.

My girl is in there. My girlfriend. My life.

It's her birthday.

I can't fuck this up.

I can't fuck up today.

But I'm out here, looking at my phone again. It's calling my name, I swear. I almost threw it out the window on the drive over.

I should have.

I didn't.

Alice never showed up to the house, but Mom's here. Dad is trying to arrive later. Bliss told me she invited Ben. She asked a few girls from school to come, but she wants to keep it small.

"I hate seventeen," she said sometime last night. "I wish I could skip it."

While I'm at war with my phone, Alice's Jeep drives past me. She pulls up behind Charlie's cruiser in the driveway and parks.

Petey's with her.

They're going to do this. On her best girl's birthday.

I grab the sunglasses, lift my hood with no intentions of lowering it, and get out of my car. I light a cigarette and take deep, hard drags. I smoked a bowl before I left the house, but it's nothing. My hands are shaking. My mind is disorderly. I want to turn my phone on.

_This is so fucked up. _

Pete spots me. He pulls on Alice's elbow and she sees me, too. I stand under the willow tree because I don't want to go too close to the house with my smoke. Alice stands at the top of the driveway with her arms crossed and her eyes rolled.

Her navy blue shirt reads, "_Are You Mad, Bro?"_ in white letters.

And his says, "_I Ain't Even Mad." _

It's fucking ridiculous, so I laugh.

"I tried calling you," Petey says. His clear eyes are guilty. My boy has his hands in his pockets and his head low.

I blow smoke in the air. "Yeah, my phone's … whatever."

He nods. "I wanted to tell you, but..."

I flick the cigarette butt into the street. "But what?"

"I feel bad," he says.

I smirk. "Yeah, well, so do I."

My best friend is hooked up with my little sister. Lies and unfairness aside, it's twisted on principal alone.

I walk past him, through the grass and around my sister.

"Don't be a dick," she says spitefully.

I knock on the door and wait for someone to answer, but Alice moves in front of me and opens it right up. She walks in, so I follow.

All eyes are on the three of us as soon as we step foot into the house. Rosalie, Leah, and that girl Lauren are sitting on the couch. Bella's leaned back in Charlie's recliner with her bare feet up. I hear my mom's heels tapping around in the kitchen with Renee, and Charlie's walking down the stairs to my side. The same stairs I've crept up so many times without him having any fucking idea.

He offers me his hand before I can extend mine first.

"How's it goin', kid?" he asks, deep-toned and semi-threatening. He's always been a huff and puffer.

His handshake is firm. Authoritative. He looks me in the eye, and this time, I look back. There's nothing there for him to see. All of my pandemonium is behind the scenes. All he gets is blue.

Reluctantly, he pulls his hand away and offers it to Pete. He hugs Alice, and she says something about his mustache. I give her a dirty look. So does B.

Bella's eyes are locked on her best friend.

I don't stand around and watch their pretend-innocence crumble. I set B's present on the gift table and walk into the kitchen.

Renee Swan is good at making a person feel at home under her roof. She's never made me feel like I was unwelcome, and today is no exception. I sit at the kitchen table while she asks me about school and baseball and whatever else I might have going on. I keep my hoodie on while we talk, though. The house is oven warm, but I don't want her or Charlie to see what's underneath black cotton.

Bella's mom is practically throwing food at me. "Try this," and "I made this," and "I'll give your mom the recipe for this."

She's an everyday Betty-fucking-Homemaker.

While Renee cooks, my mom helps, and Charlie picks and grunts and oversees, the conversation flows easily.

That's until my girl walks through the kitchen with my sister behind her. Bella opens the back door and lets it slam into the wall on her way out. Everyone kind of jumps, surprised by the birthday girl's anger. I've seen it plenty of times. It's a well known companion of mine, but everyone else is clueless. I'm only stunned she isn't doing a better job at keeping it under control.

She never slips.

Once both girls are outside, the parents and myself look at each other, waiting for someone to speak up first.

Of course it's my mom.

"Girls," she says with a wave of her hand. "Alice probably ate Bella's last Twinkie."

My heart splits with my girl's, but for her sake, I make myself laugh. So does mom. Renee and Charlie don't, though. They're always in the dark. They have no fucking idea that their daughter's most treasured friendship is falling apart.

And at this point, it's fucking ridiculous that they still don't know what a junk food baby Bella is.

My girl is so afraid of their over-protectiveness, but these people are fucking blind.

I excuse myself once conversation starts up again. Since the girls went out the back door, I head toward the front. Petey notices me walking out. He doesn't say anything.

He follows me, though.

I sit down in a green plastic lawn chair with a unlit cigarette between my lips. I have my cell phone out again, with my thumb on the power button. My oldest friend stands beside me, and I can feel his eyes. Sympathy and regret linger between us, but I sense anger, too, and consequence for everything left unsaid.

"I haven't told anyone," he says.

I nod, but I don't look up. My heartbeat remains steady. I stay composed.

I knew this was coming.

"But you could have told me, Dusty."

I smile with spite and look up at my boy. I pull the cigarette from my mouth and hold it between my middle and pointer finger. Petey's leaned back against the house with his arms at his sides, totally open. His dirty-blonde hair is longer than usual and brushed to the side. It curls up at the ends.

"So you can be there for me?" I laugh, placing the smoke back between my parted grin. "You have no fucking idea, Pete," I mumble through the corner of my mouth, looking away.

"You've always had my back," he says.

This is fucking uncharted territory. It's too fucking heavy. We've been through shit. Not only the everyday mischief, or the drugs and the fights and the girls, but sobering shit. I've helped him clean up Rachel's mess since we were kids. My family and I have always made sure he has food in his fridge and clothes on his back.

It's the good, the bad, and the ugly with the two of us and Ben, but it's unspoken. We don't talk about it. It just is. We do it and move on. It's wordless.

I listen to Petey push himself away from the wall, but I keep my head down.

"All I'm saying is that you're not alone." His unease is detectable. He says it too loud. He says it too fast. He walks to the edge of the porch and back. My boy fidgets when he's uncomfortable. He always has.

"Go get her," he finally says. I look up and he has his hand on the doorknob. Pete's the one looking down now. "I'll get Al and handle shit in here, or whatever."

Then he's gone.

I don't even get a few seconds to process shit before Bella comes running out from the side of the house. She's shoeless, dressed in a pair of black ankle pants and the hoodie my sister made for her birthday last year. The scarf I bought for her today is trussed around her neck. Baby's hair is windblown, stuck to tear-sticky cheeks, and her makeup is smeared, running down her face.

My unsmoked cigarette falls from my lips and tap dances on the porch before it settles and rolls a little. I stand up and put my phone in my back pocket, ready to go to my girl, but she runs up the steps first. Upset and hurting, she drops to her knees in front of me.

I do the only thing I can do...

I drop, too.

Baby cries into her hands, and when I touch her, she leans. I stand and bring her to her feet, and without a look back at the house, I walk my girl around to the side where no one can see us.

"It's so unfair … it's so fucking unfair," she cries out, holding onto my sweater.

I push strawberry-blonde away from her face and hold the back of her head while I kiss her forehead. "You need to calm down, B," I say, kissing her again.

"I can't. I can't..."

I pull her to me and let her scream her sadness into my chest. She pulls on me now, tugging on my sleeves, my hoodie, my hair. I hold her back, just so she knows I'm here, but we can't be this way. Someone will come for her.

_Are you looking now? _Cocaine asks._ Do you see her now?_

_You did this. _

"She gets him, and I have to wait for you. It's not fair, Edward," she shouts through her tears. "After all this time, she just gets him!"

"Bella, Bella—baby … listen to me, girl." I hold her face up. Tears run over my thumbs. "You have to calm the fuck down."

"I don't care anymore," she says sadly, but so unwavering.

I smile. "Yes, you do."

She shakes her head, but I don't let her go. I kiss her wet eyes and panicked lips. I kiss my lips to her worried-creased forehead and her heated cheeks.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," she says over and over, crying her heart out.

I hug her and wait for someone to come around the house and find us this way. My heart double-beats in anticipation for what we've spent so much time avoiding.

I wonder if it will be her dad, or her mom. My mom, maybe. Maybe it will be one of her friends. If so, we could probably talk one of those girls into keeping quiet. If it's anyone but those girls, though, we're fucked.

_Nah, you've been fucked since that banana popsicle. _

By the time my girl's eyes are dry and she's nothing but hiccups and sighs, fifteen minutes have passed. No one has come to look for us, but we can't walk into the house together. Her tears are soaked in my sweater, and she's too attached. She won't let go.

"I should probably leave, Bliss," I suggest. At least then they won't think she was with me all this time.

Her eyes fill up again. "Don't. Don't go. I'll go through the back." She stops to think. "Go to the store. Go get candles." She holds onto my sweater. "My dad forgot the candles. I'll tell them I asked you to get some."

I unhook her fingers from my sweater. "Just—you have to calm down, B."

She's holding on to my neck. She's pulling me down. She bites my chin, my jaw, my earlobe. "You know what it does to me when you leave, so go get candles and be back."

I groan, pushing my hand through my hair.

"Please. Please, don't leave me. Please, not now."

"Okay," I finally agree.

I turn my phone on when I get into my car. It lights up just like I knew it would, and I see Dimitri's name pop up over and over. Knowing I'm a phone call away from him, from _her,_ burns my throat. I rub my nose, and without checking any of the messages he's left, I delete everything. I don't remove his number, though.

I should.

But I don't.

I call baby on the way to the store. She tells me she feels better. She tells me she'll be okay. "Hurry," she says.

I walk up and down the aisles at the grocery store. I have no idea where the candles are, but looking for them keeps me busy. And when I do find them, there are so many to choose from. It's ridiculous how hard this simple fucking task is when my brain won't fucking work. It's one-tracked. My mind is on my phone, already dialing his number because I can't fix what's waiting for me.

There's pink and white candles, glitter candles, long candles, striped candles, polka-dot, sparklers, candles that look like numbers. I grab the one and the seven. I grab the glitter candles, and the pink and white ones, too.

I walk away.

I go back and take one of each. She can choose. It's her fucking birthday.

I'm waiting to pay, flipping through some bullshit fashion magazine. I toss it with the candles; Bella likes that shit.

I'm next in line, but the person ahead of me is writing a check, so I scope out the candy while I wait. The birthday baby likes Skittles, so I get her some. I get her some Jolly Ranchers and a Hershey's bar. She loves bubble gum, so I grab her a pack of Cotton-Candy Bubblicious.

"Hey, man," Coke's favorite slinger says from behind me.

I know it's him before I even look. My blood fizzles and sparks. My skin itches. I clear my throat, but my sinuses burn.

Cocaine recognizes him right away; she comes to life with a smile and greedy hands.

I take a deep breath, relieved that the guy writing a check is finally done and the cashier is ringing up Bliss' candles.

I turn, but I don't look. I reach in my back pocket for my wallet. I will my hands to be steady. Cocaine's laughing. She's cracking up. She thinks this is so funny.

"Hey," I answer.

He sets a liter of Mountain Dew and a Slim Jim on the conveyer belt behind my items. He's with some chick I don't know.

"I've been trying to call you," he says. He pats my back and squeezes my shoulder.

I keep my eyes on the cashier's hands. "My phone's broken," I reply.

He doesn't acknowledge me again. He speaks to the girl, and she giggles. I roll my eyes; it's so stupid. So overdone. He's using her, like he used Mixie. Like he used Vic and Kim. Like he used my boys. Like he uses me.

I pay what I owe, take the receipt and collect my bags. I walk away, and he doesn't call me back.

I'm this dude's paycheck, though. He follows me to my car without the brunette. I throw my purchases in the back and open my door, and he's here.

"I got some new shit," he says quietly, just between us, hanging on my door. "It shimmers, bro."

I pull on my door until he stands straight. "Not interested, Dim."

He laughs.

I have one foot in the Lincoln and the other on the pavement. I'm losing my patience with this guy. I'm losing my patience with this day. Dimitri is no friend of mine, and it's in this moment I realize it. He's dirt—he's a fucking predator, and if he doesn't stop laughing, I'm going to lay him the fuck out.

"Come on, Dusty." He leans in again, untruth and waste personified. I spit on the ground. "Take a sample."

He reaches into his pocket and palms a small baggie filled with white powder. My very own bag boy looks around, checking his back before showing me what he's holding.

My heart fucking soars. I can feel my cheeks warm … every part of my body whistles. My mouth fills with saliva and my fingers twitch.

_Take it, take it, take it._

"Don't just fucking stand there." Dimitri shoves the bag into my chest. His eyes are worried, like I might not take it.

We're in the grocery store parking lot, slangin' dope; he should be uneasy.

This is our life—the youth of the nation. We lack credibility and significance. We run in circles, saying the same shit, fucking the same bitches, using the same drugs. We're a bunch of broken and bent motherfuckers, destroying our minds, overindulging, looking … seeking, but never fucking finding.

We run, avoid, and dodge. We live off excuses. We live to die young. We're busy doing nothing.

I clear my burning throat.

I face facts.

It's _in_ me. The fucked up factor.

I'm so fucking insignificant and uncredited. I run in circles faster than any of them. I fucked all of those bitches before anyone did. I invented bullshit excuses and I use _all_ the motherfucking drugs. I'm no better than Dimitri. I'm dirt. I'm waste.

I don't live for Bliss. I wish I did. She keeps me alive, but I live _off_ her. I drain her. I take. I lean. I use.

I love.

I _love_ her.

I do.

So fucking much.

Bliss is love to me.

But sometimes...

Love is not enough.

_I can't breathe._

Baby has my heart, but this, _her__—_cocaine—she tied, sealed and bolted my freewill. _She_ overtakes and overrides. _She _lives through me.

_I tried. _

_I fucking tried. _

I look around and shake hands with Dim, taking what he has to give.

He stands straight and smirks, like he knew.

_All he had to do was find me. _

"Call when you need more," he says, walking away.

I sit in my car. The baggie burns a hole in my hand.

I don't even wait.

I empty the grocery bags onto the floor and use the magazine I bought for Bella to spread this bitch. I part her into sloppy, uneven lines. I split her wide open … way the fuck open.

_Choose your last words,_ cocaine whispers seductively.

I fuck her fast and hard. Lines blend and slide and fuse until I'm snorting a pile. My hands shake. My knees bounce. My heart—not me—my heart cries, _no, no, no. _It fights back. It makes me choke. It makes _me_ cry.

_Bliss. _

_Bliss. _

_Bliss. _

_Isabella Bliss. _

When I've fucked all of her, I push the magazine to the floor and sit back.

I pull on the front of my hair and breathe through clenched teeth. Tears falls from my eyes, down my cheeks, off my chin. I punch the steering wheel until my knuckles crack and pour. I scream.

Fiends scream.

We do.

We yell.

_I told you, _cocaine says. _I told you you'd do it._

I run my hands down my face. I wipe my tears away. I start the car. I back out of my parking space. My heart beat, beat, beats. Black stretches my pupils; I can feel it. I can feel_ her _filling the voids _her_ absence made. I sit taller. I feel better. Like magic. It's like fucking magic.

Something's different, though.

_She's_ turned her back on me.

I ache. I feel. I regret.

I know.

_You tried to leave me,_ the cunt screaming though me says. _Now you're fucked._

My surroundings are liquid. My vision is tilted. My motions are a second ahead of my focus, and my focus is motherfucked.

I shake my head. I swerve. I almost hit another sedan. They honk. I don't know which way to go. I pull off the road.

I hold onto the wheel with blood dripping hands. I breathe too fast. I cry more. I yell more.

Nothing helps.

_She's _staking claim. _She's_ marking me the only way one can be marked from the inside.

_She's_ living off me. _She's_ draining me.

_She's _taking.

Unable to move, my head falls back and hot tears pour from my eyes. I can feel myself solidifying into succumbing. It's unstoppable, and too fucking late.

With what little control I have, I unseal my heart and let love run.

"_Tell me a secret, Edward."_

"_I love you."_

With my arms useless at my sides, I close my eyes.

_You fucked her,_ my sickest sadness tells me. _You fucked up. _"You fucked up. You fucked up," I whisper over and over.

It was me.

It was always me.

There's no _her. _There's no _she _whispering in my ear, chewing on veins, kicking hearts.

There's only me.

All along.

I'm the tempter.

I'm the sick sadness.

I'm the cunt.

It's my deal.

A dusty delinquent.

Mini-foul to full on filthy.

A monster.


	36. I Don't Feel It Anymore

**We do not own Twilight. Shotguns are overrated.**

**All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer, William Shakespeare, Metric, Awolnation, Florence and her so-amazing Machine, Violent Femmes, Bishop, Girls, Taking Back Sunday, William Blake, Gotye, and The Yeah Yeah Yeahs.**

**babybabe, so long in the making, we're so close now, girl. .**

**babyblue, thank you so much for all your care and for giving me this today.**

**i love you guys.**

**also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ANDREA! we love you, sleepy!**

**William Fitzsimmons and Priscilla Ahn – I Don't Feel it Anymore: **_We'll fall just like stars being hung by only string. Everything, everything here is gone. No map can direct how to ever make it home. _

_We're alone. _

_We're alone. _

_We're alone._

**Chapter Thirty Four – Isabella's Precious Heart**

Charlie's at work. Renee's at Wentworth Lake. The house we're approaching is empty.

We're alone.

Just me and her. Just like we started.

She unlocks the front door, loosening her scarf, stepping into furnace heat and the scent of pumpkin bread. Around the stairs, there's a loaf on a cooling rack on the table, next to a note. She holds onto her backpack straps. As she walks toward the table, she warms.

I beat.

_Baby, _the note says. _If you get this, I'm at Apple Fest with Sue. If not, I'll see you when I get home. _

There's a heart around a smaller heart.

_All my love, Mom._

Silent under the weight of her homework-filled bag and four days of pretending, Bliss breaks a corner of the bread off and wraps the rest of it up. She flushes the broken bit and locks the front door before she climbs the stairs at a steady, normal pace.

Even in the absence of everyone, she's so steady.

Renee had said she wasn't going tonight, but Bliss was insistent it would be fine.

"You guys have been talking about it for months," she reminded her mother with a strong smile this morning. "I'll be fine. Don't ditch your plans so you can watch me do homework. Really."

She drops her book bag off on her bed and heads down the hall to the bathroom, still wearing her coat and boots.

She wants this. She's been waiting days for this moment. She needs it.

When we get to the bathroom and are alone with the mirror, she looks.

And looks.

And tries.

And tries to let everything relax. To open. To let. To feel. To unhide and seek me.

But it's hard.

She's buried me so deep this time.

And I don't make it easy. I bear a grudge that torments every part of us.

Bella closes her eyes tightly and breathes through our nose. She curls our fingers into angry fists and slams our right hand down against the counter because she knows.

It's been four days since she begged him not to leave. Four days since he let her think he'd actually come back.

Because they were finally together.

Because she was really his, and he was really hers.

And it was her birthday...

He was supposed to come back.

Bella screws our lips shut and makes our fingers stretch out. She forces another breath in. She raises our lids and stares into our dilated pupils. Our blue-greens are red-rimmed from clenching closed, but they're painfully dry. Not a single tear comes up for comfort. She hasn't cried since she pulled it together for him, for the two of them.

The grocery store is a ten minute drive from her house, there and back, tops. Even if it was packed, which it never was, he shouldn't have been gone twenty minutes. When half an hour passed, she knew, and she swallowed everything. She closed me off completely. For four days, she's been faking okay from waking up to passing out. She doesn't have to pretend to be completely alright. Her best friend did just kind of really hurt her. It's understandable if she's quiet and red-lidded, but this is deeper than that. Bliss walks around like a shadow behind a ghost of who everyone thinks she is.

I beat, low on strength and weak with absence, poorly, but steadily just like every other part of us that still works. Running on nothing but threadbare echoes that are more insubstantial than even memories, and survived by the thin, thin, thin hope that maybe, _just maybe_, she'll think of him, I keep us going.

She washes our face. She closes our eyes.

I beat quietly and cautiously, like tiptoeing in the dark.

She braces our hands and our unnaturally light weight against the counter. It's only been a few days, not even a hundred hours, but she hasn't eaten. She does enough when her mother is watching, but I feel it. She's noticeably undernourished all around me.

_Cry, cry, cry_, she pleads without a word. _Please, it's okay_, she attempts to convince our mind and myself and our so-stubborn tear ducts.

_Please, give me something. Anything. Please..._

We're stuck on survive though, and the truth is I'm dying without him. This is what living has become: disappearing slowly, secretly, and alone.

Bella closes our fingers again and lets out a low scream. She drops our fists to the counter again, rolling through the urge to knock the hand soap off its holder and strike the mirror. She digs violet painted nails into our palms.

_He left you_, she digs at me. _He doesn't want you. _

_Cry_, she demands_. Hate him. _

She scratches deeper, cutting into the soft centers of our hands when no pain registers.

_Fucking hate him_, she orders desperately.

I pick up for her. I let her know I feel her effort because I do. I feel the sting of our painted-pretty and consciously unbitten nails, but I feel it alone. It doesn't register anywhere else. Out of pure protection, our mind refuses her anymore hurt.

Love did this.

Love made us this way.

We used to be free, before love. But the mind, like me, just wants what it wants, and against everything else, it just wants Bliss to live, every bit as much as I just want him.

Love has made war of our girl. Love has turned our vessel made for cherishing and devotion into a bleeding and desolate battlefield.

I beat faster. I try so hard to give her the pain she seeks, but our girl feels nothing. She can't cry, even here. Even alone, she's standing behind herself, separate from and unable to connect.

I know better than to pulse his name. I'm afraid of her burying me deeper, but _he's the key_, I try to tell her, hopeful for anything, even just a single thought of his blues, his voice, anything. _You can't cry without him. We can't anything without him._

So, I do it. I beat his name into our veins, and Bella fulfills my fear instead of my hope. She swallows hard and holds air that I need, that our whole body is dependent on, violently tight in our throat.

It's a natural instinct for me to panic at first, but it's momentary. Bella holds her breath, and I'm helpless.

Once upon a time, I'd have protested such a punishment. I'd have beat faster in turn. I'd have almost attacked and demanded the oxygen I need for our lungs, but I don't. Not here. Not now. I know it wouldn't do any good. Bliss is so gone. She'll hold out until we black out if I fight her for him. I know. This fight is old and I know every step of it. They're numbered with as much terrible simplicity as one, two, three.

Try.

Fail.

Carry on.

_Be merciful,_ I weep. _Say death. _

But she doesn't. She locks me into silence before she finally breathes again.

This is the hardest part of surviving.

The better she gets at living without, the more useless I become. The struggle to live in love's absence means forcing me into an unseeable, unhearable place, and Bliss is a contender. And deep down, deep inside, where only he has ever touched, where only he can reach, I'm voiceless and terrified, and slowly relinquishing the life she's banished me to.

.

.

.

Four more days have passed.

It's been a week and one day.

It's Halloween night, and we're alone, mostly.

He hasn't called or texted, and neither has she. She won't. He made his choice, and now he gets exactly nothing because we all know that exactly nothing hurts the very most.

Charlie and Renee are asleep and we're in the bath downstairs when Bella sinks into hot water up to her earlobes and closes our aching-to-cry eyes.

She breathes. She focuses on me. She sifts through our mind with blurry, anxious quickness, and I feel her listening, trying to hold onto my rhythm and I know suddenly – I know – she's going to give him to us. She's drained and weak and weary from living without. She needs, even just to think of him.

She ran this bath so that she could, privately and secretly.

Bliss exhales slowly. She stops sifting through memories and concentrates on the first one that's clear enough to make me skip.

It's his voice.

"Here."

It's only just a memory. It's a flimsy, feeble thing that pales in comparison, but I'm desperate for even that now. I'll take and love anything, anything, anything she'll grant me.

It's one word, but if I had lips, I would smile to the sky.

It's more of him then. I can see him walking toward us with a gift bag in his right hand, and if I had eyes, I'd blink to see him better. I'd open them wider in love, love, love...

It's Isabella's thirteenth birthday. She's sitting up in his bed, grinning like crazy as she opens the bag.

It's the smell of home and the feel of the softest cotton.

It's "Is it dumb that I gave it to you?" and him watching, looking, seeing us for just a moment longer before he turns around so she can take off her dress, and put on his sweater.

It's him holding his hand out for hers, and if I had wings, I'd flip and flutter and fly, fly fly.

It's fingers touching fingers until she falls asleep, and continuing to touch all through the night.

It's sleeping like nowhere else in the whole world, and waking up with his arm around us for the first time.

And then it's just like everything else.

It's gone.

Bella blinks and breathes, and braces herself, and if I had hands, I'd grip and grab and fight her. I'd cry with my eyes and beg with my lips. _Please, please, please, don't take him from me. _

_Not yet._

_I'm not done._

_Please, not yet._

But it's over. She's closed herself to me, and fair isn't fair, but it's how we work.

The memory was taken too soon, but she gave to me.

So I give to her.

Slowly, so very carefully, I open just a little and let a few drops of the hurt I carry so deeply she can't even access it, into her bloodstream.

Bliss winces. She bends her knees and closes her eyes tighter. She chokes, but she breathes.

I beat faster. I give her the smallest bit more, and it's enough. She slips a weak cry, and it happens. Tears swell up and slip together under our twisted cooperation, sliding down so hot, her cheeks burn.

The pain I gave, a few aches from breaking, are there and then gone, just like the memory.

We're alone again, Bliss and I.

I don't have hands or lips, or eyes, but I cry just the same. I cry with her. Every beat is a tear, and every tear is a wish for what should never have been and what could never be anyway.

For him.

For love.

For home.

.

.

.

The next morning begins like every other since her birthday: Bella hurts before she opens her eyes.

She's been counting herself to sleep at night to avoid thinking of him. Anxiousness, absence, and the knowledge that everything is wrong keep me company while she rests, and when she wakes, every day, she wakes sore in the worst way: chosen over.

Drained cruelly close to dead, betrayed, and left behind.

Alone.

She blinks eyelids that feel like contusions open and closed again, not wanting to be awake, not wanting to live through this.

I beat. I can't help it.

Bella swallows, refusing to linger. She wills our muscles and bones into submission. She makes our eyelids lift and stay, and she pushes our legs out of bed and feet to the floor. She doesn't wait for our eyes or ears or lungs to adjust to the cold uncomfort of waking. She trades our soul aches for the fading pangs of hurt that so many parts of her still feel from holding him nine days ago.

She leans into the nearly-gone throbbing in each thigh with every step down the hall. She touches our tongue to the corner of our kiss-split mouth while she starts the shower. She backs against the wall and lets too-hot water cover blue-brown grip shapes on our sides and hips that still remember, and she lifts our left foot to the corner of the tub, opening, so that hot water can burn our barely still tender center.

I pulse with her, in harmony with our girl's self-inflicted furthering of our physical suffering. I want it too. I want all of the hurt to stay forever.

She washes. She dresses. She puts headphones on that cover both ears and turns the volume of _Blindness_ so high up.

Ear drums wince. She turns it louder.

I'm lost in the process.

She sits down at her mirror and puts on her face for the world. She conceals purple dips and pink puffiness with ivory powder. She hides tired lines with light shimmer-shadow. She makes perseverance look youthful and real.

She's awake and alert on the outside, but inside she's indifferent, dead to thought and unmindful of anything that isn't part of putting this portrayal together.

She packs her backpack and goes downstairs. She turns the volume down a little, but doesn't take her headphones off as she grabs a granola bar from the cabinet and kisses Renee on the cheek. She doesn't keep the earphones on every morning, but it's Monday. Monday means school and having to face a best friend that isn't anymore.

Alice and Bliss don't yell or call names or ask pointless questions. They don't fight and they don't apologize. They don't really love or hate or speak at all. _What's there to be said?_ It's messed up and unfair on too many levels, and underneath each one, Bella's still lying. She's still keeping truth in the dark.

Renee understands, or thinks she does, or really wants to, and is really trying. She gives Bella's empty left hand a small squeeze, and her heart, half of the one that made us, double beats. Love echoes pulmonary promises through their palm to palm contact, but goes unspoken. She doesn't want to push or pry any more than she already has.

Outside, November first air is freezing sharp on nose and cheeks. Little red vessels rush to the surface of our exposed skin, turning it pink. Our girl sniffs, and it reminds her of selfish love.

She pushes him from me and conscious thought just as quickly, tossing the granola bar to the passenger seat. She switches headphones to turned-up speakers and blares _Guilty Filthy Soul_ once she's out of the driveway. On the street, I can't hear myself beat. I can't hear anything over _"I'm running out of faith, be careful who you tell..." _

Only when we get to the parking lot does she turn it down. She shuts the car off and breathes out, and for a second, everything is quiet and still. For a second, the chaos stops and it's just me and her.

I beat.

I beg.

I plead heedlessly with her to ditch school and _go looking. _

_Call him. _

_Just think of him, just for a minute._

But she does what she does every day right here. She switches. She goes from blocking me out to bearing down. She cracks her window and takes all the bitter cold air that she can in through our nose and down to our chest, forcing our bruised ribs to expand and sore lungs to take and hold.

_He held us so tightly on the dock, _I remember, working like a whisper._ He couldn't let go. You told him you couldn't breathe,_ _ and he still couldn't stop – _

Bella inhales deeper, cutting me off. When I can't help it, when I can't fight her any longer because I need her to release her breath and give me more, I quiet. I surrender, and she swallows me into pitch dark purgatory. She locks me in cold disregard and tucks breakfast into a trash can on her way into school.

.

.

.

It's a few minutes after one in the morning.

School was hard. Seeing Alice is hard for too many reasons to count, never mind the fact that aside from everything it already is, she reminds Bella so much of him.

They didn't speak as they passed in the hall, but they didn't look away. The uncomfortable half-smile, half-nod they shared said so much, and nothing at all.

She can't be mad. How can either one be mad? It's just different, and awkward is so much worse than hurtful. Hurtful is at least manageable . Hurtful, we can do. Uncomfortable is new and much more difficult. It drains what meager strength Bella has, and frays her already uneasy nerves.

Charlie and Renee have been in bed since eleven or so. Bliss read with her mother after a dinner she forced down, and waited until both parents were surely resting before running a bath. We traded again, memory for hurt. She needed it. She'd been counting down the minutes to it since she pulled into the school parking lot just in time to see Alice, getting out of Pete's Caprice Classic black and white. The siren and decals were gone, but there was still a cage between the seats, and a spotlight near the mirror. He bought it at the police auction last week. He's not in high school anymore, but his girlfriend is, which means everybody knows everything there is to know about anything.

Kind of.

Sort of.

Every step took effort after seeing them together, easy and carefree in the light of day. Every minute was work. By the time we were finally alone under hot water tonight, Bella was bone-weary and consciousness-crippled to open up and let go.

She closed her eyes and covered them with her hands, and thought about dancing with him at prom. She thought about glowing in the dark, and "_do you have any idea how hard it is not to kiss you when you smile like that_?" _. _She thought about "_let me show you how loved you are_, " and open, hope-tinted, needful blue.

If I had roots, I'd have tangled in her thoughts and dug myself a place to stay.

But I don't.

I'm only a heart, and truthfully, I'm half of what I am. When Bliss cuts me off, I can't help giving in.

Knees to chest, forehead to knees, she cried for almost an hour. She only finally slowed and stopped when crying began to take effort, too. She realized when she did, that the water was the same temperature as she, and she was cold.

We're in her room now, getting ready for bed. She doesn't need music or intentional effort to quiet me here. I'm as hollow and weak as she after her cry. I'm gutted a tiny bit more irreversibly, just as she.

We're perishing, little by little by little.

Turquoise plaid pajama pants and a long sleeved light yellow shirt on, Bella steps from her closet to her side table. She turns on her lamp, out her light, and is folding down her blankets when I'm pulled hard and fast from solitary silence.

The pull is abrupt. More like a jerk. A sharp, all-consuming gulp.

It's everything.

He's here.

He's close.

I know it. Our fingers tremble and curl, and our lips tingle and part. Our arms ache while knees shake, and legs go completely weak. Our toes curve against the carpet as pupils swell and our ossicles strain to pull every sound from the air. Our butterflies take flight and our soul, tucked deeply between the walls of my four chambers, glows.

I don't mean to hurt Bliss, but I've come unhinged. I can't help it. I beat his name until our blood is singing it and I thrash wildly to get free.

Up through our throat.

Out our mouth.

Into his hands.

Bella swallows hard, keeping me down, keeping control. Her phone vibrates at the foot of her bed, not just once, but continuously. She looks for a second before she starts to walk to it, and she steps so slowly I want to scream.

His picture lights the screen: his face on the morning of her birthday. Her kiss-too-hard and cling-too-tightly marks are across his neck, and his sleepy grin is genuine.

Our lungs expand and our throat opens. Our bones yearn and all the tiny little hairs on the back of our neck stand up. Even the corners of our eyes sting with need.

Everything pains.

Her phone stops vibrating for a second, just to start up again.

_He's here_, I pound against our ribs, delirious with love's proximity. _He's here._ _He's here._

But she's not listening. Bella's looking from her phone to the window and back again. She walks over so that our eyes and mind can face what I already know.

There's a boy one floor down, hood up, fighting with everything he has not to make a scene. He's at the side door she's kept locked every night since he left, lit by nothing but almost full Autumn moonlight. His back is to us, and his left hand is in his front pocket. His right is to his ear, under his hood, holding his phone.

He's gray on black, and he can't stand still for a second.

I ache. I twist. I cry.

She makes our feet step. She takes us from the window before he can turn and look up. A voicemail lights her phone, and she moves it to her desk. She sets the bright little link to him face up and sits down in her chair without any kind of acknowledgment.

Require as I do, there's not half a chance she'll answer, and I know it. She won't even red-button his calls or turn her phone off to diminish the number of rings he has to hear. She just sits, silently derailed, watching the seconds pass between all seven vibrations and the pause before the reconnect.

She watches one voicemail turn into two, then three, then four.

She checks them with her fingers barely wrapped around her phone, holding it out, inches from our left ear.

"Open the door..." He whispers under the wind. His voice is strong, but he's biting so much of it back, and the wind is loud. "Bella -"

He pulls the phone away, frustrated. For a few seconds, it's all wind.

"Bella, come open the fucking door, baby."

They go on like that, one after another after another. Pleas and demands resonate between gusts of wind and tightly clenched curse words. Threats and ultimatums are whispered violently with claims and counterclaims.

"Let me in, Bella. I swear to fucking God -"

She bites down on our bottom lip.

"I'm dying. You want me to die out here?"

She closes our eyes tightly.

"I'll set this fucking house on fire. You know I will. I don't give a fuck, baby. I'll burn you out. You know I'll do it."

He breathes heavily between mixed up phrases. He sniffs, and sniffs, and our ears don't sense it, but our mind swears it hears him grip the phone to near shards. Fright shivers our backbone, but Bella doesn't make a move.

"You're killing me, Bliss. You're fucking killing me." He sounds lost in the wind, and bound more than a mad man is.

I shake the curved bone bars of my cage.

_Let him in_, I cry and shriek and wail. _Don't do this. He's here. He needs me. Let him in. _

_You're killing him._

But she doesn't.

He calls and calls. He warns and swears, but she gives nothing. He doesn't get her answer or her anger. He doesn't even get her thoughts when it's just her and I, unless she's at her very weakest. She gives him exactly, utterly nothing.

She sets the phone down after the fifth voicemail.

It's ice cold angry.

It's _"baby..." _

And _"you're doing this."_

And _"selfish little liar."_

It's "_fucking open the door_," and below freezing wind, and resentful breathing, and the weight of unworthy need that's far too immense for words.

He waits out the remaining minute and a half of the message, just as silent as she before it disconnects him.

Bella forces our little toes to uncurl, and brings our feet that hurt to step to the edge of her chair. She bends our knees that long to unbend and walk, under our chin. She watches as the seconds stretch into minutes between calls.

He doesn't leave another message.

She doesn't weep, but she wants to. Our stomach turns and our throat muscles twist. Our eyelids close and press and squeeze, and she silently begs him, everything, the whole world, _stop, stop, stop._

I can't grant her tears now, though. He's here, and she won't let him in, and it's so hard to hear him over all the wind. I'm nine days, eight years, and a million miles past frantic. I'm beyond panicked. He's going to leave any second. I know it, and I haven't even gotten to hear his heart yet.

Bliss drops our lids slowly and concentrates hard on taking one steady inhale.

I'm racing too fast to pump enough blood into each beat, though, and it's making our breath short and our brain dizzy. I'm close to palpitations, and all she wants is calm.

But all I want is him.

Six minutes scrape by. Bella rests our throbbing left temple on our brittle left kneecap, and presses both palms over our so-sore sternum. She drops our aching eyelids and presses the heels of both hands, pushing pressure right into my septum.

I struggle.

I flare up and push back. I clamor and pulse. I howl like the beast she's made of me for mercy, compassion, forgiveness.

His.

My own.

Him.

Her phone doesn't ring again, and she doesn't let up, and when I feel him turn away, I don't let her miss it. I burn it against her. I split open cuts in my tissue that are shaped like back-scratches from another. I force open mostly-healed scars that he cut into me years ago, the first time he brought us to tears. I burden our shoulders and try to break Bella's cold resolve with _"I wasn't with Bree."_

"_I've never been with Mixie or Charlotte."_

"_I wouldn't lie to you."_

I don't have them, but I bear arms. I bear teeth and knuckle and raw hurt against her. I make her feel all of it.

Everything.

Anything.

_Hate him. _

_Hate him if you need to, but call him back here. _

I flood her with savage, ruthless and unrelenting beats, and it's enough to make her move back to the window. He doesn't look up, but even if he did, she's standing enough to the side of it that she can see without being seen.

I fight harder. I beat first-time fast, back seat-crazy, and unlocking-the-front-door-in-a-thunderstorm-after-the-first-time-he-left hard. I beat more forcibly than I maybe ever have, praying at the top of our lungs for her to lift the glass that separates us.

But she stifles me with a swallow. She refuses me air and curves our fingers that want nothing more than to open her window, into fists so tight our knuckles ignite. She locks our entire skeleton still as our boy turns from his pacing and head shaking. Taking the cigarette from his lips to his right hand, he bends his right leg. He kicks the door so hard the porch beams quake and the glass between us vibrates.

The dogs next door start barking and don't stop. Fear chills our blood.

Down the hall, Charlie's sitting up in bed, Renee next to him. Hand in hand, their hearts' confusion and distress does nothing to calm me.

Bella's about to cross her floor to turn her light out and tuck us under covers, but not before she watches love turn one more time.

Hood up, back to us again, Edward doesn't run or hide or make any attempt to hurry carefully away. He walks, right through the yard, flicking his cigarette in the grass as he goes.

_._

_._

_._

We wake as alone as we blacked out.

Bella's at the foot of her bed, curled in a fetal shape, cold and uncovered around me. Her phone alarm is going off, face down across the room.

She remembers throwing it.

I remember him.

She blinks our tired eyes wide open, pressing our painfully empty hands into the bed to push herself up.

I'm tender and heavy, and my work is spiteful.

I seethe beats.

She ignores me.

She showers, even though she bathed last night. She pulls clothes on and twists red blonde into a loose side braid over our left shoulder. She covers our ears with headphones and turns _Kiss Off _all the way up.

She takes her earphones off to choke down whole grain toast and honey, and she talks with her mother about classes, and the weather, and _"did you sleep okay last night?"_

Renee's only child looks up to find her mom looking at her with eyes that are hopeful and loving, but uncertain and concerned. Bliss shrugs, taking a bite of bread that our taste buds hate and our stomach tries to deny.

She swallows stubbornly.

"Yeah," she replies with practiced ease.

_Even if I didn't, so what? _she thinks._ I'm best-friendless. Do we need to talk about it some more? And so what if some punk came by and kicked the house? Doesn't mean I know him..._

If I had a head, I would shake it.

If I had middle fingers, I'd show them both to her.

I'm twisted hot in anger. If I had teeth, I'd snap them at Bliss for keeping Edward and his heart from me, for keeping love we need to breathe a secret.

"Why?" Bella asks, forcing a drink of milk with a so perfectly curious and relaxed expression.

Renee shakes her head a little. She presses her lips together in the smallest smile and reaches, tucking hair none of us realized was loose behind our girl's right ear. Bella fights the want in every muscle to pull back, scream out loud, and turn the kitchen table over into a million pieces.

"I just worry is all," her mother says, her voice kind and patient around her honesty. Her eyes study, and we know they notice lost weight and carefully covered purple circles.

"I love you. You can tell me anything, you know. We can talk about anything."

"I know, Mom." It comes out quicker than she means for it to. She meets Renee's eyes and apologizes with a smallest smile of her own before she stands. Grabbing the apple next to her milk, she drops it in the side pocket of her acid-washed Jansport. "Thanks," she offers softly.

She exchanges '_I love you_'s and '_have a good day_' wishes through wanting to curse and cut and cry. She drowns me out with _Lust for Life _and tosses the apple into the garbage on her way into school.

In class, she concentrates solely on the subject matter. At lunch, with Rose and Leah, she keeps up with who they know her to be. She plays it cool. In the halls, she pretends better than the best of them.

She has surviving down to a science.

The only part that's kind of, sort of harder than seeing Alice, is being seen by Garrett. I don't flutter or fly. Our fingers are curious sometimes, sometimes even our lips are, but I don't feel any differently around him than I do around any other person that doesn't belong to us.

But our composure does.

Our silent suffering does. Our deeply tucked, so buried need just to be seen and heard, sees and hears him, and wants to lean when he is near. His heart doesn't talk to me, but I know it's good. I know he is good. He's truly honest-to-goodness.

"Hey," he says with a smile, catching up with Bella on her way out of AP sociology and on his way out of sculpture. He has on a grayish-blue sherpa lined hoodie, unzipped, and taupish-white clay stains on the knees of his jeans.

His pupils dilate. His steps lighten. His fingers twitch and curve the slightest bit tighter around his backpack straps when he sees her, but there's no change in his pulse. Even as she falls into step next to him, his heart says nothing.

"Hey." She smiles too. It's not as deep as his, but it's not completely contrived. I'm still buried and ignored; she's still this built-version of herself, but just a tiny bit, just the smallest fraction of a little, she eases. She lets go of some of the pressure behind our eyes and relaxes some of the tension in our shoulders. She softens the strained stiffness in our neck and jaw as she slips our right arm through the offered open bend of his left.

It's not much, maybe half a degree, but his body temperature rises. I feel it. I hear his lungs expand to breathe better and feel his nearly straight as an arrow spine line all the way up. He stands taller. His kindness, consideration and stability are discernible, but his heart simply lubs and dubs.

It's not home, but there is comfort in this. It's familiar to our senses and safe for our nerves, and consistent at every turn. It's a kind of comfort to so many parts of her as they walk arm in arm, but I still ache. I still yearn and miss and belong. I still wane, and not a single bit of it lessens for literate and stylish.

I'm long term plans based on mistakes.

I'm what living like this does.

I'm a wishful thinker, and I beat solely for the boy who leaves the lights down low so we know he means business. While the rest of our girl finds some small semblance of solace in Garrett, sort of like she does when she sleeps, I keep us going.

.

.

.

Three more days go by.

She puts on acts and pretends to eat. She blocks me out and makes like I don't exist. She lies to her parents, fabricates with her friends, avoids Alice, leans on Garrett, fakes okay, and hides the truth.

She hasn't cried since Monday night, before he showed. She hasn't opened up and let me breathe in three days.

I'm contentious, but I'm weary. I keep our blood flowing, but it's thinner than it should be. I'm not only starving for him, but simple acknowledgment now, too.

_How long can I really go without the light of day before I waste away completely? _

I don't want to find out.

I want her to listen.

I want her to trust me. If she trusted me, none of this would have happened, not like this. If she'd have just let us love when that was all we wanted, if she'd have not let our mind and conscience and fear get in love's way, we'd be exactly where we should be tonight.

Which is anywhere with him.

Heart to heart.

That's how we're supposed to be. Always.

It's a few minutes after two in the morning now. Bella's night lamp is on, but she's counted herself out. While our girl sleeps and doesn't dream, I continue to work. She fills our lungs with air and I send our life force to them. I keep us breathing, and am kept company by nothing but my own woeful sounds.

She breathes.

I work.

And I feel him almost a full minute before our ears register the low roll of the Lincoln and the loud clap of his car door. His steps from the street to the sidewalk are steady with intent, and if I had toes, I'd be on them.

I hammer against our ribs and pummel cool blood through our drowsy veins. Bella's phone vibrates on her night stand at the same time, and she wakes with a sharp start. She closes her hands around it, quieting the sound and covering his too-bright-for-our-tired-eyes face.

She rubs our eyes and coughs. She silences his call.

She doesn't hear it, but one floor down he turns the handle. He tries, but it's locked. She makes sure it is every night, before she comes up here.

I fight. I struggle in the dark, blind and banished and terrified she's going to do it again. She's going to turn her back on us – on him and me – again.

She sits up in bed, bending legs that burn to run downstairs underneath her too-light weight. His second call goes unanswered while she listens to his first message.

"Let me in, B," he says, above a whisper. She can hear him moving, pacing maybe, and she can hear the wind. His voice is rough, thick in his throat like he hasn't used it all day, maybe longer. "You said I'd never be without you. You'd never take yourself from me, remember?"

All ten of our fingers clench, and she pulls the phone away, resisting the urge to throw it and scream until our whole body gives out.

He calls again.

And again.

_Forever, _I remind her desperately_. You said forever. You said more than life. _I endeavor with everything I'm made of to overwhelm and drown every fraction of us with soul-betrothed beats. _You told him he belongs here. He belongs right here._

I push and pulse and throb our blood through our arms and legs, through our fingers and toes until our tips pound with aching life. I force pressure with my rhythm until our vision blurs and our hearing clouds, and our brain vibrates my cry.

Phone still vibrating in her left hand, Bliss pushes her blankets back and stands, not still for a second before she walks to her window. He looks up the second she's there, and she doesn't bother to hide, and he's ours, but he's so, so, so lost.

His eyes are sunken and bleak and dangerously deficient. His lips are pressed together in tight instability, and his chest rises and falls too quickly under his sweatshirt. She stares down, phone in her hand, and he stares up, phone still pressed to his ear under his hood. His look communicates more than he can say with words. It's a threat. It's a plea for help. It's a right demanded.

When her voicemail picks up this time, he doesn't speak. He takes his phone from his ear and pockets it.

He looks.

And she looks.

And she walks.

She gives him our turned back and a dropped curtain. She shuts off her light and gives him her dark, and I panic shamelessly in the hole she's buried me in.

While she sits on the edge of her bed and listens, our arms ache. Our marrow boils and pops, and our bones burn. Our joints wail and our muscles screech. Our intestines twist, twist, twist and tighten, and try to turn themselves inside-out. Our hands make fists with little fingernail-cut and bleeding palms, and our skin cries, and cries, and cries for his.

I double and triple and quadruple my beats.

She ignores. She denies and punishes and helps slowly kill. And I can feel him turn. I can hear his empty hands close and open and close tighter as he walks away.

Then I hear it.

It's so faint under the wind. Our ears don't pick it up, but I do.

His heart.

It's like an echo of an echo of a breath that hurts, and it's seeking me.

_Love?_

It's cutting tears.

_Love?_

It's calling home.

_Love?_

Our weary soul feels its worth, and rejoices. I fall on knees I don't even have.

But then Bliss closes our eyes in sin, in error, and I lose everything.

I scream and weep hysterically. I scrape and dig against our bones, and I swear against God.

I curse her.

I hate her.

I beg her.

_Please, please, please._

_Don't do this. Please, don't do this. Don't fucking do this._

She closes our eyes tighter. Our lids pinch. They suffer under her effort.

_Let go. Let go. Let go, _she pleads in turn. _Let go._

I push, and she pushes back. I drop beats like bombs while she sheds blood from our palms. I rise up, and she lays waste, and in the middle of all of it, outside, right in the driveway, glass smashes and breaks.

Our tortured lids fly open and our forced fingers immediately undig themselves from open-wet-red skin. The neighbor's dogs go insane, and there's another glass-shatter sound.

I, and every other part of our girl, am completely open and alert. And we're up. We're moving. We don't have any idea what to do, but stillness is impossible.

We make it downstairs just in time to see him through the lace curtains that hang in front of the two living room windows.

It hurts to breathe. It pierces. It stings.

Baseball bat gripped tightly in his left hand, he opens the door of the Continental with his right and slips in without even a glance over his shoulder.

He doesn't peel out.

He doesn't speed off.

He just starts the car, rounding the wheel with one hand and drives, not half a second before Charlie's rushing down the stairs.

Gray and black hair sleep-pushed every which way, he unbolts the front door without a bit of hesitation, and goes outside in nothing but a white tee-shirt, boxers and socks, with a Glock nineteen aimed before Bliss can even blink.

She can't.

She's stunned.

I'm stunned.

_We will never forget this. _

_Ever._

From shifting in his sleep, Charlie's left sock is pushed a little further down than his right. His shoulders are squared and his heart rate is accelerated, but steady. He's not anxious or afraid. He's natural like this, guarding without a blink of doubt. He's prepared and willing to go to any extreme to safe keep love.

And it reminds every part of us of _him_.

"Bliss, what are you doing?" Renee pulls her from the window, into her arms, out of the room, and around the corner, into the kitchen. There's fear in her hushed-up voice that we have never heard.

Her mother's arms protect, and her hands hold. Her breathing is shallow and her heart is racing. She's holding her daughter to it with every instinct and ounce of strength she has.

Bella holds on, not because she needs to, but because she can't really let go. Our mind and composure are just as shocked and shaken up as I am. It takes us a few minutes or so to become calm while Charlie walks around the house. He doesn't come back inside until he's certain everything is secure.

"It's okay," he calls from the living room. The heavy sound of his gun being set on the side table next to the door resonates in our ears and chills our anxious nerves.

Bella swallows. Twice. She stands with her mom and follows her around the corner. She gags me, and hides our palms under long sleeves, shutting truth down, down, down. She pretends to be a different kind of scared and confused, the kind her parents expect her to be.

"What happened? What was it?" Renee asks, keeping constant contact with Bella. She strokes our hair and rubs our back. She smoothes the tee-shirt we're wearing and strokes our arm.

"Tail lights," Charlie says, shaking his head. "Somebody was driving off when I opened the door, but I couldn't make out the plates or the car." He's looking at Renee. Only at Renee. He takes her hand, gently disconnecting her from Bliss.

Mother and daughter's eyebrows wrinkle. I don't understand, and neither do they.

Our stomach dips, flipping over and over with our worries and our want to know everything. Our eyes dart and search for explanations.

"Just come out here," husband says to wife, his tone safety assuring as he leads her toward the door, leaving his gun.

But Bliss won't be disregarded, and I'm grateful. I don't want to not know either... I need to know.

"What?" she asks, stepping forward, following. "What is it?"

Renee turns, giving her a _stay put_ glance, and Charlie finally looks at her. His eyes are dark with the sleep he was just pulled from, but so open, selflessly devoted and carefully, actively shielding.

"Alright." It's all he says before he turns, giving us permission to follow and see with just that one word.

Outside, the wind is cold and unrelenting, and what we see - the sight of the sound we heard upstairs - is momentarily stunning.

We heard the glass break. We saw the bat in his hand. We could have guessed, but we didn't know.

Renee gasps and covers her mouth with the hand that's not on the small of our back. Charlie scans the yard with his arm around her, and the wind whips strands of our hair against our stinging cheeks.

There's little slivers and shards of smashed glass glittering in the porch light that shines on the driveway. Both of the headlights on Bella's Rabbit are busted out, and I know I shouldn't, I know she'll punish me for it, but I can't help it. I thrum his name into our blood like a victory march, because I know.

He'll be back.

.

.

.

Ever-against me, it didn't take much prompting on Bella's part to convince Renee to have an alarm system put in the house. Just mentioning it the next morning was more than enough.

She didn't know her parents had already talked about it, though, after everyone went back to bed. After they'd asked her if she knew anyone that would do something like that. After they'd kissed our head and walked her back to her room. After Charlie's gun was tucked away, and Renee's heart calmed down.

They'd have to order her new headlights since there was nowhere to get Volkswagen parts in Forks. It would be fine; it would just take a while, and she wouldn't be able to drive at night, or in the rain. Renee tried to insist on driving her to school, but Bliss refused with the perfect amount of hurt, persistence and backbone.

"It's like, six miles away. Please, don't make me be the only senior that's riding with her parents. Just to school and back... It's not like I have anything else to do."

So they did. They let her drive herself, which was good. Broken lights were the least of our girl's worries, but she didn't need a ride to school on top of everything else.

Our tired bones.

Our overworked nerves.

Our drained patience and ready to give out at any second facade.

My wide-open wounds and terrible homesickness and miserable, bitter work.

And her constant striving to conceal it all.

Walking the halls and facing everyone was more than enough. Keeping him from our thoughts and concentrating on any and everything else required total control today. Especially after leaving lunch.

On our way back to French class, stepping with perfected ease, alone because Rose was home sick with the flu, streaks of pink and green and purple catch our peripheral vision. We don't stop or stare, but right there, out the double doors, plain to see in the light of day, Pete's sitting outside on the concrete steps with Alice.

He shouldn't be on school property. Lunch hour or not, he's not a student and he's not allowed, but they're being quiet, and no one's apparently cared to tell anyone.

They both have their hoods up and Alice has fingerless gloves on. Violet and teal are blowing out from under black cotton, and they're both laughing. There's a bottle of Gatorade between them and a jar of peanut butter. Pete's holding a spoon and she's holding an apple, and they're trading bites, back and forth.

When she tilts her head back and laughs with her whole body, just like her brother, I wince.

Bella looks away.

Practiced-perfect steps take twice the effort they did ten seconds ago. Our head feels impossible to hold up, and not breaking down into tears right here on hallway tiles demands every modicum of self-control we have, because we could.

She could cry here.

Right here.

Right now.

She wants to.

I want her to.

But we're suddenly not alone, and the unexpected presence contorts our constitution and makes me stare daggers I wish I had.

"Hey," Ben Cheney says with a too-sly smile, falling out of step with his friends and into step next to our girl. "What's up?"

Our intuition shakes its head. Our fingers press into skinny jean pockets and denim stings our wounded palms. Our lips close and don't want to open, not even to say hi, but she makes them. She makes us pretend to be polite.

"Hi," Bella replies with a glance, making our mouth curve up the slightest bit at the corners at Jake Black's best friend.

Ben's heart beats too hard. It pumps blood to places she has no interest in as he licks lips she's never considered.

"What are you doing tonight?" he asks, nodding his head when one of his friends turns around and calls for him.

She shrugs our shoulders, and they groan in protest. The movement itself hurts, and the weight of the lie - the misconception she's putting on when she knows exactly what we're doing tonight - is painful.

_Tell him_, I urge her. _Tell him we're going to wait until everyone's asleep and then make a twisted trade. We're going to ignore true love. We're going curl into a pathetic little ball and try like hell to shake the yoke of inauspicious stars from world-wearied flesh. _

_Tell him._

"I don't know," she says instead, keeping our eyes straight ahead. "Why?"

"I'm having some people over." He pauses. His smile twitches, but he keeps it cool. He glances down at Bella. She's listening, but she doesn't look up. "Molly," he continues, but the name doesn't ring a bell in our memory. "We're going down to First Beach."

Isabella swallows, digging our hands deeper into our pockets to give our mind pain to focus on instead of the almost all-consuming want to run to the bathroom, lock the door, and cry until we're blind.

"Isn't it a little cold for the beach?" she asks. Our palms sting. The corners of our eyes water.

I hate him.

I hate her.

I want love.

Ben laughs a little. We're approaching the French classroom, and I'm grateful. It's not the bathroom. We won't cry, but I don't care. I just want to be quiet and away.

"She'll keep you warm," he replies, stopping as our feet turn. Bella lifts our eyes to his, confused by what he means before we walk in. She remembers Edward making Jake bleed at the beach. She remembers him telling her to leave his house. She misses passionate protection, and I beat stronger for the memory of it.

"Call me, Bliss," Ben tells her before smiling, turning, and walking.

I would never. Not even for a second. But our girl - our half-alive, war-torn, shadow-of-who-she-actually-is girl - she thinks about it. It's only for a second on her way from the door to her seat, but she does. She thinks about what going might cause.

If I could, I'd shake her.

But I can't.

So I do the next most effective thing I can.

I remind her what we were doing before tall, curly-blonde and ridiculously indiscreet walked up. I pulse Alice's name into our veins and make Bella remember shared laughter at lunch, and open-for-all-to-see affection.

Our nose burns. Our throat closes up. Our tear ducts swell and ache and push.

I make the rest of us hurt like I hurt. I make her force our focus.

There's no winner in this, no victory in war. We're a constant collective casualty. We're spoils, and there's less of us left for love with every passing minute.

.

.

.

French class drags. So does Calculus.

Halfway through British Lit, thirty six minutes until the final bell of the day, we still can't shake the aching need to break down.

_It's not fair_, Bliss thinks over and over_. They both lied and they still got what they wanted. They snuck and cheated and misled, and here they are. _

_Together._

_Happy._

_Allowed._

She torments me intentionally, like this is my fault.

She thinks about his right foot against our left under the breakfast table while Alice blows bubbles in her chocolate milk. She thinks about belly buttons and stolen white milk and locker notes. She remembers _you look good enough to eat, princess pie_ and wishes he would have. She wishes so hard he'd have swallowed her whole four years ago so she wouldn't have to feel this.

Hopeless.

Helpless.

Not strong enough.

Not good enough.

Never enough.

Mad out of our mind and sorrowful down to our sinew.

Stuck and gutted and fucked in love.

Bliss rubs our eyes and leans our heavy head on the heel of our left hand. She half listens to her teacher talk about _Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience_ and half-thinks about how she can't go home. It'll be too inexecutable to be away from all these people that require her fake alrightness, to face unconditionally loving and so-questioning eyes, and to be so near to a room they've secret-kept in, and not fall to cracked-up pieces.

So after class, she texts Renee and promises to be home before dark.

She goes to the school's library and spreads her books out. She opens notes and uncaps a marker, and tries her hardest to study through me and missing and hurting. She concentrates on William Blake, and breathing, and being still while our temples, cheeks and knees all miss soft kisses. She scribbles and highlights and memorizes stanzas while our wrists and collarbones and chest all miss his teeth.

Fading bite marks over where I pulse and plead and am ignored, warm with yearning. They sting heat until they feel like they're glowing, and Bliss has to set her pen down and press our crescent-cut-up hand over them. Over me.

It's comforting in a way, the pressure. It hurts. She's doing it to shut us up, but it's acknowledgment. It's her showing us we're real. We're not gone yet.

It's enough to make her sit back and exhale steadily. The clock on the wall across from us says ten 'til six, and when she looks around, there's nobody left in the wide open room save for her and the librarian. It's almost three hours after the last bell on a Friday; why would there be?

Worn down and mewed up to our heaviness, and remembering to be home before dark, Bella packs her bag up and makes her way to her locker. She grabs her cream pea coat and fastens all of the toggles. She puts the hood up, bracing herself for the cold wind she knows is waiting. With our right hand around her keys, and both of them dug deep into her coat pockets, wishing she'd have remembered mittens, she opens the door with our arm and steps outside.

Sure enough, early November wind greets our face like a slap. Bella nestles our chin and jaw down into the top of her coat, and step, step, steps down the concrete stairs, nothing on our mind but getting into the car and out of the cold until I feel him.

Before we turn the corner of the building and enter the back parking lot, I hear his heart, steadily humming my name in the frostbiting air.

Our legs almost give out from under us. Our diaphragm expands to accommodate the chaos in our respiratory system, and our eyes fasten.

He's there, leaning against the front of the Lincoln, which is parked right next to her Rabbit some twenty steps away. His sunglasses are absent and his black hat is up high and back, not hiding his thin face or his blackheart eyes that are every bit as locked as ours. Hands we long for are loose in the edges of his gray pullover hoodie pocket, and legs we miss between our own are long in dark slim straights. His black and white Vans are tied and stock still.

He doesn't move an inch, and as much as Bliss wants our feet to freeze, we keep walking.

_Love,_ his heart calls through the wind, needing, reaching. _Love?_

_Love, _I call back, assuring and needing and reaching too. _Love._

Our arms beg to stretch out and our jaw aches to unclench. Our lips tingle and our butterflies go crazy and our soul hums. Our whole body feels pulled to lean and open and give, but Bliss resists all of it. She looks away and bites our tongue, and she tries not to even breathe as we approach him.

Our lungs fight back, though. They crave vanilla and spearmint and smoke almost just as much as I do.

It's only then, once she's looked away, that she notices what he's done.

What Pete had to have helped him do:

Two shiny new headlights have replaced broken empty spots.

If I could grin, it would curve all the way up into steel gray clouds.

Bella rolls our eyes, opening her door and throwing her backpack into the passenger seat. She thinks about getting in and driving off without a word. So, I beat fearfully, direly, deliriously.

_Don't. Don't. Don't._

Leaving her door open, keeping us half behind it, she turns around.

He's turned to face us, but he hasn't moved much otherwise. She looks around the parking lot. She looks him up and down.

_Skinny._

_Sky high._

_So unwell._

She secures our eyes to his dope-stretched pupils and looks until our lids hurt with want to blink, and every cell inside us is feverishly homesick. She looks until I feel more alive than I have in too long and then she shoots seventeen unlit arrows straight through me.

One for every candle she never blew out, because he never came back.

"My dad almost shot you," she says, crossing our arms over me, squelching the song I'm trying to sing to our soul's run-ragged, overburdened and so lonesome heart.

Edward licks his lips before he speaks, not lifting his eyes from our lock. Desperation disguised as carelessness, charading as courage, pretending to be cocky keeps his posture straight and his eyes impervious. "Let me be put to death," he replies unflinchingly.

Bliss scoffs and sneers and closes our eyes. Embittered and instantly incensed, she uncrosses our arms and grips the cold metal of the car door, turning to get in.

"I need to see you," he implores, shifting and pressing with only his voice. Its pitch is compelling, but its undertones are empty, starving.

But she doesn't hear it like I do. All she hears is _what_ he said, and our hurt feelings are so vindictive they use his words like a match to set the world on fire.

Letting go of her door, she opens our lids wide and points our pupils like weapons.

"Open your eyes!" she shouts, undoing her scarf and pulling her coat apart. Our hair whips across our cheeks and the cold wind pierces our skin with a million tiny needles as she exposes our neck.

_Look at me_, she screams without a word, baring our frame that her clothes no longer hug, but hang from.

It's not bad. We're not gaunt, but we're not ourself. We're waning.

_Look_, she demands with our eyes, showing him purple circles and blushless skin. _See me._

She heaves breaths while she watches him take us in. She aims the effects of his choices at him and stares hard while his heart bleeds my name in apology and regret and mourning.

I take advantage of the violently cold uncovering and beat his name louder while I'm able, infusing it into the wind between us with all the promises and assurance I can.

Edward swallows. His eyes come up from our middle, back to our eyes, and his make-believe ease is struggling. We can see it in his black, and our girl doesn't skip the chance to fire. She reaches unhesitantly with our right hand and tugs the side of her shirt away from our neck, exposing collarbones that have never been so visible as they are here, today.

He looks.

He sees.

And just like Bliss knew it would, his front slips off and blows away with the wind. He swallows. His heart winces and cuts a drawn out beat.

He doesn't blink, though. He doesn't even take another breath. His lungs surrender to his heart and he stretches his right hand for our left.

Which she pulls out of reach.

I rattle my cage, frantic to shatter it while in a matter of seconds Bella turns, opens her door all the way and climbs inside.

Edward's heart clamors and cries out.

_Love?_

It screams like a cursed lover at the stars.

_Love?_

I try to pull blood instead of pushing as Bella turns the key in the ignition. She chokes out loud, but doesn't stop. Overfilled tears of pure physical hurt with nowhere to go but out, flood from our eyes. Born behind our lids, they slide down our cheeks with a single life span of a few seconds and with their one breath, before they go to die on her jeans, they pray for the heart she's shutting out in the cold.

_They're his_, I bawl at her. _Those are his tears. Don't keep them from him. Stop keeping us from him._

I pull harder at our blood, struggling against my nature, fighting with everything I have to make her stop. Veins all throughout our body shriek for mercy, but I grant none as she shifts gears and turns the wheel. I try to pull harder, tighter.

She drives away, and I fight like hell. She can barely see through our tears, but I don't stop.

I don't care.

She drives and drives, around home and away from it. Even though we know she has to return there, she can't stop crying.

I don't ease. I constrict my atria and try squeeze my ventricles closed. I make our lungs and limbs and every cell suffer. I make our body burn and beg, and I don't care.

Not about her parents that will interrogate and scrutinize if she's out too late.

Not about police that may stop her if she doesn't slow down or drive straighter.

Not about the accident that might crash between her and another car if she doesn't get a grip.

None of it daunts me. Not even a little bit.

But the downstairs bathroom after midnight, hiding in hot water and cutting me with memories just so she can have this - feeling, pain, right here - more than intimidates me. I can't go back to that. I refuse. Not when he was right there, ready and willing and needy to give us the solace she seeks. And he can give it like I can't, so much better than I can.

Her phone rings. It's dark out. Renee's worrying.

Bella pulls over at the end of her street. She has to stop crying. She has to pull our shit together, and I know it, but I can't.

She sobs out loud. She hits the steering wheel the way she's seen him do. She digs the heels of our hands into our eyes and pushes our palms into our chest.

_Stop, stop, stop, fucking stop,_ she demands.

And as much as I don't want to, as uncompromising as my fight is, it's completely hopeless when she takes a breath and holds it.

And holds it.

And holds it until our lungs compress and our vision blurs, narrowing our sight into a dark gray tunnel, and I have no choice. How much or how fiercely I fight is inconsequential.

Her control prevails, every bit as unavoidable as death itself.

.

.

.

Worn-weak and debilitated from my dissension, I'm half-passed away when I feel him.

Just as drained, but more vigilant than I can be at this point in our war, Bella is awake and waiting.

Helpless to hide our puffy, red-rimmed eyes, she blamed them on her former best friend when her mother asked, and Bella fell into open arms when she offered. Her cries were lies, but she cried them anyway, too far up agony's creek to hide or hinder them. She wept herself weary on her mother's lap, and rested more than slept on the couch with her.

Assuring Renee she was fine and just wanted her bed when she woke some two hours later, she came upstairs alone and closed her door.

But before all of that, after she parked her car and exhaled a breath that raked the inside of our throat, she entered through the side door and left it unlocked when she turned to her mother, who was too concerned with Bella's inconsolability to take any notice.

We felt guilt between saying goodnight and climbing the stairs. We felt wrong for misleading and stealing advantage of complete and unconditional care, but not enough to go back down and secure the lock. And the moment we felt his nearness, every drop of remorse dissipated anyway.

I hear his hand wrap around the handle and turn before the edge of the door brushes along its frame, opening. I hear it close, and then I hear discreet, deliberate steps, disciplined breaths, and desperately quick, so-devoted beats.

I am so thankful Charlie hasn't installed an alarm system yet.

I quake sluggishly. Each contraction aches to relax in diastole, but I keep working. I can't help it, any more than I can help fluttering at his approach, even though the much wanted and welcome enlivening tortures my wounded valves and so-sore chambers.

Curled on our side in the middle of her bed, Bella sits up just before he turns the handle. She blinks. It's hard to breathe. Tears well up uncontrollably.

Our body is beyond fatigued from my assault, but exhaustion doesn't stop our flesh from kindling a degree warmer at the sight of him. It doesn't keep our sinew from shivering, or our tendons from tensing, or our fingers from curling in her blankets with need to reach.

In the three seconds it takes him to cross four strides, more needs and feelings than I can even begin to process tremor through our circulatory system.

Joy.

Abatement.

Longing.

Fear.

Shame.

Urgency.

Pain.

So much pain.

And the moment he reaches and touches, all of it intensifies, and I cannot for anything remember the last time we felt this alive.

Pulling with his hands and gathering with his arms just as we pull and gather with our own, he drops to his knees as we rise to ours, and we fall together. Grasping. Clinging. Curving around, holding on, pressing completely, utterly, entirely against.

It's unreal to be comforted by something so unsettling.

No one, nothing, anywhere, ever, has harmed us as deeply or unmitigatedly as he has, but his touch calms. His hold soothes and comforts. He's damaged us forever, but there's nothing we want more sincerely, in the whole world, in all of life, than to be held by him.

Our eyes leak.

His thumbs find and take.

Our lungs gasp and struggle.

His palm covers and consoles.

Our arms circle and so do his, and we hold, and hold, and hold without a word.

No apologies.

Or threats.

Or requests or assurances or blame-trading. Just clutching tightly, adhering with every suffering muscle we have all through the night.

She sleeps, eventually. He doesn't. The drugs don't let him, but he finds a kind of rest in our arms, assuagement in our fingers curled in the hair on the back of his neck and our face buried in the bend of his shoulder. Our sleepy breathing evens out his own while he slides his fingers through our hair and strokes his thumb along our temple and cheek and ear.

In their silence, while she sleeps and he tenderly recommits to memory every color, every curve, every little clench of our fingers and legs and lungs, we - his heart and I - never quiet.

_Love,_ his pulse whispers over and over, found and safe and unceasingly grateful.

_Love, _I whisper back, in harmony and adoration and deliverance.

_Love._

_Love._

.

.

.

He breaks himself from us before sunup.

I fight the disconnect at first, instinctively, but I know. I know just like our mind and the rest of our girl, that we'll see and breathe and hold him again soon. We went too long without, and the alleviation that only his contact can offer is too cogent for even her to deny.

After she showers, dresses, and guiltlessly lies to her mother that Garrett fixed her headlights, she tells her she's going to spend the day with him.

And the night with Leah.

And goes instead, with a pear she actually eats while she drives, to the dock.

She doesn't blare music.

She doesn't get out.

She tosses the core from her window and pulls her phone from her pocket.

_I'm here_. she texts, bending our legs up, between our chest and the steering while she waits.

He doesn't reply, but pulls in next to us not half an hour later.

We leave her car for the front seat of the Continental.

The sky outside is completely clouded over, but sunglasses hide our eyes and his.

_Love_, his heart whispers, while his hand reaches and ours presses and curves and holds fast to it.

_Love. Love. Love._

_Love_, I sigh back while we lean, and he drives, and both of us cling.

_Love._

.

.

.

I pump nervously when we turn onto streets that lead to his house. Bella lifts our head from his shoulder. She's wary, less comfortable knowing we're headed there than she was having no clue where we were going.

"They're at a charity banquet in Tacoma," he says hollowly, palming the inside of our left thigh, pressing us closer. "Your secret's safe."

There's spite in his voice, and begrudging that stings wounds that haven't even began to heal.

"Ours," she bites back, remembering her birthday and his refusal to come out with the truth when she wanted. "Our secret."

_Not the same_, I tell her. _Not the same and you know it._

Edward shakes his head as he turns the wheel with his free hand. "No," he disagrees.

_Love_, we whisper back and forth while they sit in silent contention. _Love._

His parents' house is empty when we pull up and park in the driveway. We slide out his door after him and hold hands on the way inside. Our throat aches with the weight of everything going unsaid, but our hand presses tightly to his and our fingers curl relentlessly.

_What could be said?_

_And why?_

_What would it even matter?_

We're more impossible, more irreconcilable, more absurd and more meant to be than we've ever been. We're further helpless and deeper inevitable than we had any idea we could be. But we're here, and no amount or combination of words in any language can change what's come before or where we're headed.

Behind his closed and locked bedroom door, we take our coats and boots off in just as much silence as we climbed the stairs in. The curtains are drawn, and even though we haven't been here in weeks to know how, everything in his room looks untouched, like he hasn't been here in just as long.

We slip under his blankets fully dressed and fold together in equal parts desolation and love.

His thumbs trace the cuts on our palms.

Our fingers count his ribs too easily over his tee-shirt.

Hours pass.

Sleep comes and goes.

Alice pulls up and spends some time in her own room before leaving again, passing his door both times without a word.

More hours pass.

Our rest is deeper than his coke-sleep, but he drifts, too. We spend all day in his bed, and when night falls, we wake just to shift. Just to go to the bathroom. Just to slip out of denim and curl closer, and sleep more.

A little before five in the morning, while the bodies that carry us finally, finally, finally slip and fall into synchronized deep sleep, we're free to whisper easily. And I hear his heart clearly for the first time in far too long.

It's here. It's with me now. It's comforted and safe in this place, in this moment, but it's fighting tears. Its rhythm is weaker than I've ever heard it. Systole takes too much effort and every beat feels like a bruise.

It's dying.

His addiction is a closed hand around his heart, muffling it.

Killing it.

Bella shifts in her sleep, nestling our nose along the underside of his stubbled jaw. He strokes the small of our back, bending his neck to unconsciously curve closer into our touch.

I wish for shovels to dig myself out, to break free of our body and into his, and pry craving and dependence away from our boy's best muscle. I wish for arms to wrap around his pericardium and lips to kiss his too tightly clenched tricuspid and mitral valves. I wish for mercy and miracles, but all I have is this closeness.

All I can give is my own promised beat.

All I can do is whisper love back, over and over every time he whispers it, soft and sad and completely powerless.

_Love_, his heart whispers defenselessly, dependently, like the most vulnerable, most pleadingly delicate kiss. _Love._

_Love_, I kiss-whisper back, swearing to never, ever, ever leave. _Love. _

_._

_._

_._

As days pass, we develop a sort of pattern.

Dusty and Bliss don't see one another every day or every night. Sometimes resentment wins, but we don't go without any longer than we have to.

Bella starts to eat again, but not like before. She eats the health food she's given in order to sustain us and keep us looking more alive. She puts on the exact performance that she has to, while unsubstantial death slowly wears away at our boy, keeping him in the dark as her paramour.

They're more stolen than ever: a shadow and a ghost, half-alive and even-less. Voices go unused more often than not, but my beat and his - more and more muffled all the time - never silence. We carry the most important conversation constantly and consistently.

_Love._

_Love._

November blows colder and colder. Renee's parents visit over Thanksgiving. Esme calls and tells Bella's voicemail she's welcome, anytime, and that things aren't the same without her. She misses her and loves her dearly.

She calls again on Christmas Eve. Her voice sounds rougher, cry-hoarse and chardonnay-tipped.

"Merry Christmas, Bliss," she says, false gladness splintering despite her effort. "I miss you, baby. We all do."

Bella and I spend all day harrowed out and half-alive, pretend-smiling and quietly counting the hours until Charlie and Renee are asleep enough for us to disarm the alarm and let love in.

There's snow on his eyelashes and in his hair. His too-thin cheeks burn with cold. His teeth chatter and his hands shiver. His whole frame trembles, and no matter how tightly we wrap around, it's not enough.

No matter how hot we run the shower, it's not enough.

No matter how closely we press our body to his when we step inside with him, fully clothed under the water, it's not enough.

He shakes all the way to his bones. His heart quivers and stutters and stumbles just as badly his words.

"Don't leave me. Don't leave me. God, don't fucking leave me..."

"Shh," we try, pressed together and soaking wet on her mother's bathroom floor, holding onto him with our arms and legs and every ounce of love we're made of. "I'm here. Shhh, you have to quiet down. I'm right here..."

"Get off me," he groans deeply. He grips bruises into our sides while he pushes us with his cries. "I'm going to fucking kill you. Let me go. Let me fucking go..."

We don't.

Not in the slightest.

Not for even a second.

We don't hear from him for days, though. It's unexplainable to our brain, but I know he's not really gone. He hasn't left. He's not dead. He's just away.

Bliss and I spend New Year's Eve at a party with Rose, at her cousin's crowded apartment. Too drunk to see straight without covering one eye, we press our lips to Rose's when she turns to us at midnight. We touch tongues, but we don't mean it. We haven't heard his voice in too many nights and I'm running on next to nothing at all.

I'm scared in his heart's absence. I need it close, constantly.

Stumbling alone to the bathroom, our fingers dial him.

We wander outside without her coat or hat or gloves, and call him again.

We walk a dizzy-crooked line down the middle of the ice-slicked street and call him again, and again.

Tears and snow make it too hard to see between champagne-blurry blinks. When he finds us four lost-blocks later and picks us up from the ditch we've tripped into and settled in, he's cursing.

And lifting.

And carrying.

It's warm inside the Lincoln, so warm, but our fingers are frozen. We can't unbend them when we reach to touch him.

"You're so fucking stupid. What the fuck is wrong with you?" His voice sounds far away, regret-filled, and angry, but he's wrapping us in his coat. He's pressing his hands over our ears and rubbing our scalp and uncurving our sorely-stiff fingers with his stronger ones. He's leaning over us and cupping his palms around our mouth, breathing spearmint-heat across our blue lips, and it's too much.

We pull him closer with unbent, still-so-cold fingers, and we kiss lips we haven't touched with our own in months.

I sigh and hum and melt.

"I'm sorry," Bliss tells him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He pulls us closer, surrounding us in drug-elated body heat and love, love, love.

"Shut the fuck up," he says in turn, and we do. We don't say anything else. We kiss him again, deeper. He tastes like Jameson and anguish and broken rules. We kiss even deeper, more open, and I love it. It's needed, but it's not good. It's desperate. It's stricken. It's every effort to go backwards.

"I'm sorry," he tells her when they finally break to gasp for air that I and his heart require. "I'm so fucking sorry. I'm always sorry..."

We can see clearer when our eyes open. We see the tears that glass over his and the helpless dependence that blacks out blue we barely even remember.

January is even colder than December.

Edward's gone for days sometimes. Others, he's with us for nights on end. He's nowhere, but somehow always within reach.

Alice and Bliss make polite but unrealistic plans they never follow through with. Our ghost-girl grows closer, as much as half-alive person can, to Rose, and Garrett. She gives into his unquestioning strength and unreserved kindness, and love can tell when she has.

On nights after she's leaned our weight on Garrett during the day, Edward knows it. His heart weeps and groans behind addiction's maliciously tight and fatally weighted hand. His fingers grip and his teeth sink, and he whispers awful, painful, terrible, things.

"You think he's better than me?" he cuts so lowly, sharp between his teeth and the skin under our right ear, pinning us to Bella's bed. He bites down, one hand clamped fiercely tight over our cries while his other cuts off circulation in our arm.

"He's there," he whispers cruelly. "He's always fucking been there."

Bliss shakes our head, pushing, pulling, fighting, denying.

He bites again, further back, under our hairline. He turns our neck under his grip. "You could have that," he whispers, burning up, sharp, sharp, sharp fire. "If that's what you want."

He bites again, under our other ear.

We cry harder. We see stars. We grip onto him with our free hand, pulling him close, close, closer.

He whispers, connecting his lips to our skin and dragging his teeth over open wounds. "If that's what you need..."

His heart cries and cries.

_Love_, I never stop whispering to it, even when his can only murmur it back.

_Love_, it chokes.

_Love_, softer than a yawn.

_Love_, quiet as a leaf fading from green to yellow.

_Love_, soul-breakingly closer to death than life with every excruciating beat.

Minutes take hours.

Hours last for days.

Days span weeks, and weeks at a time.

In early March, Bliss and Renee go together to Northwest.

We tour and we fill out paperwork. We stroll along sidewalks and through halls we hope to walk again in the coming Fall.

Edward doesn't come over when we return that night. He doesn't call or answer our calls over the two days that follow, and when he does finally meet us at the dock another two days later, Bliss tries to tell him.

"You can't me mad," she says, leaving her car and climbing into his.

"Shut up," he says, racked and desolate. And that's it.

Hundreds more words go unsaid as more days and nights pass, but his hands nor our own deny themselves the comfort of connecting.

Bliss and Dusty cling and linger, but they don't speak.

They kiss eye corners and elbow bends and sternums, but not lips.

They press skin to skin, but don't push together to become one.

They make codependence and desperation and assuagement, but not love. All that's left of love is whittled down to pure knowing, and it belongs solely to the rhythm I share with his heart. The words they have spoken have twisted it. Their hands have marred it, and their choices have poisoned it. Dusty and Bliss have squandered love.

It's ours only now.

Alice's eighteenth birthday comes and goes on the first of April. Bella smiles and wishes her well in the hallway.

"Thanks," somebody we used to know replies. That's that.

Two weeks later, there's an acceptance letter and a housing packet from Northwest waiting for Isabella Swan on the kitchen table after school.

Renee cries. Her smile lines crease crazy high.

Our lips smile. Our eyes look. Our hands fill out and seal and stamp to send back what we're supposed to. We accept acceptance because Bliss makes us.

Hours later, when Edward sees the letter on her, his grip almost shatters both our wrists.

He breaks our skin. He wants to our break bones. He pushes and punishes. He shudders and seethes. He pulls Bella's sleep shirt down and bites so hard, so deeply, I feel like his teeth are finally, finally, finally going sink into me. And I know, certainly as she shakes, surely as he digs, this mark will scar forever. No matter where we go or how long our body lasts, we will carry this mark for always.

More hours stretch.

More days drag.

More weeks blur together, measured in greedy grasps, pitiful tears, exhausted yawns and pale, brittle, too-little-too-late beats. Hands that have held every part of one another, hold palm to palm too tightly, clutching to every single second they're allowed together.

A thousand years pass.

A thousand more.

They speak sometimes, but only little things.

"Hi."

"Hello."

"Good morning."

Never _how are you_?

Never _good night_.

Never _goodbye_.

.

.

.

The Friday afternoon before Saturday's graduation is overcast and cool. It's the middle of May. The sun should be shining warm and bright, but it's hiding from crisp wind behind puffed-up gray clouds.

At school, Isabella lines us up and makes us play along with her pretense as a normal senior, one last day. Our lips smile. Our fingers sign yearbooks. Our arms hug, but it's all just as empty and oppressive as as everything else she makes us say and do and be.

Our lips long to relax. Our fingers want to rest in our pockets until they're allowed to curl and cling again. Our arms fight the need to just hang, because they feel so heavy, just like every part of us.

Bliss is steady on the outside, but the edge she's balancing us on is crumbling, and we're only holding onto threads. We don't look it, but we're unstable at best. We're bankrupt and burned out. Overexerted. Overextended. Over and over and overforced, and we don't want to face this:

The end.

We want to sleep through the next twenty four hours and just wake up where we're supposed to be.

But we can't.

This is it.

This is what everything has come to.

Yawning in front of her closet, Bella stretches our arms as she changes out of today's blouse and cardigan. The movement and the intake of air makes the so-new and never-deeper mark over me sting. Our skin more than misses him. Our hands open and close and want. I'm starving for sacred, slowly-diminishing beats.

Leaving little white lace shorts on, she pulls a camisole over our breasts and stomach, and an oversized gray sweatshirt over that - warm enough for the wind and softly loose enough to be gentle on still tender marks.

We haven't seen Edward since Tuesday night.

We were at the dock, where we were supposed to be, where he asked us to be. We waited for over an hour, and when he finally showed, his black eyes were bloodshot and his lids were so red. His too-long hair was hat-matted and unclean, frustration pulled into a sad mess. His clothes were lived in and unwashed, while his skin looked washed out, ashen pale in the quarter-moon light. Scotch and cigarettes and the sting of completely crushed hopes burned our nose when he closed his car door.

Coke stretched his eyes so dark; it was like she was everywhere. Their sex was undeniable. We couldn't look at skin and bones without seeing her all over him.

He was faded, emaciated, scraggy and haggard. One foot in the grave and the other kicking the bucket, he laughed when he saw us. He dropped his keys and rubbed his cry-rimmed eyes with the heels of his hands.

He stumbled. He was drunk.

He was a lot of things.

Bella yelled.

He smiled, but he slurred.

"Baby," he tried, coughing, faltering and leaning back against the side of the Lincoln. "Baby," he started again, groaning through his twisted-tearful grin, still rubbing his eyes. "Baby..." He hemmed and sniffed and coughed once more.

"I'm fucked up, Bliss. I'm so fucked up."

Addiction's grip was too tight. Between the beach breeze, our boy's suffering and our girl's resentment, and both of their misplaced words, I couldn't hear a single beat of his heart.

_Help him_, I begged Bliss, panicking like a child possessed, pulling frantically at our pulmonary arteries and all our veins. _Help him. Help him. Hold him, please. Please. Please._

She clenched and unclenched and reclenched our hands, hating them for wanting to reach out. Our eyes darted and our battered, bruised and constantly hurt feelings that are always there, right under the surface, just waiting, raged.

"Stop doing this to me!" She shouted over the wind. Blood rushed to our cheeks. Our tears burned as they rolled.

"Why isn't this enough?" She extended our arms out as she yelled, then bent them in, pushing our painfully open and empty hands over our chest, over me.

"Why am I never enough for you?" She demanded, pressing harder over bite marks and thin skin and bones like bars.

I shook while Edward coughed harder, sniffed and stood up straighter. He laughed, and it was the saddest, most irreparable, most disconsolate sound ever. Distressed. Suppressed against his will. Abused and destitute.

Past hope.

Past cure.

Past help.

"I tried," he said, his voice brittle and cracking, his hazy eyes searching and searching, but unable to focus on anything but us. "I tried -"

Bella raised our voice from a shout to a scream. "You didn't!" She pointed our finger at him. She cried. "I begged you. I needed you and you fucking left me. You left _me_! You chose!"

"They were your fucking candles!" He finally shouted back. His voice was hoarse, though, while he pointed at nothing, back toward town. "I just wanted to go home!"

Love is madness.

She struck him when he reached for us, right across his cheek. She pushed when his arms circled our middle and screamed when he gathered us wholly closer, accepting every slap, every scratch, every out of control intention to hurt him in any and every way. She fought until our limbs and voice and angry strength gave out, and the four of us - the two of them, his heart and me - were a mangled heap, gasping and grasping and fragmented in the sand, holding on with nothing left.

And even then, their air intake was too heavy for me to hear my name under addiction's unrelenting hand.

He, Edward, might hurt Bliss. His grip might bruise us and his teeth might mark us, but his heart would never. His heart is the best heart. It's selfless and it's brave, and it's so strong. It's blessed-special. It's important. It talks to me.

It used to talk more, before...

His heart needs me, and I need it.

Just as slowly and as surely as it's dying, I am dying for it.

Every hour.

Every minute.

Every second.

Apart or together, his heart and I are both languishing. I know it, because love is knowing, and despite knowing, despite painfully pure certainty that I cannot ignore, Bella makes our feet step and our features smooth, and she carries on every day with what she thinks has to be done.

She chooses, and I beat.

Mishandled.

Crippled.

And unwillingly.

She breathes out as we leave her room.

Downstairs, Charlie's parents have just arrived for their granddaughter's big ceremony tomorrow. When we step down, bare foot and perfect charade perfectly in place, everyone is all hugs and kisses and _"it's all finally happening."_

"_Tomorrow's the big day."_

"_You're such a young woman now_."

At the dinner table, we stomach food that Bella makes us eat and participate courteously in conversations she makes us have. We fit in where we're supposed to. We go along. We play it up, but inside, our stomach is knotted and our ligaments are tense. Our bones are sorely tired, and I'm so deprived I'm misbeating without meaning to.

Bliss swallows it all.

Every part of us hates it, but all signs point to spending the night alone. Charlie and Renee are staying on the fold-out couch in the living room since his parents are here, and we weren't invited to go out anywhere because everyone we know has someone else. And the one we love hasn't responded to our text from hours ago, anyway.

_Boy._

It wasn't much; we knew, but still. It was a line. It was an attempt. We broke the three day silence. We tried.

Normally, after dinner, we might sit and talk for a bit, but we'd eventually return to Bella's room. We'd turn music up low or open a book, and feign attention at anything other than everything we actually want. But, knowing that Renee will likely say something about us staying downstairs, considering our company, Bliss makes us stay.

We sit company while the four of them talk over the turned-low television. We continue disappearing just as we have since last October - slowly, secretly, and alone. It doesn't matter that we're in a room full of people. It's like nothing. No one notices, even a little bit.

Until Bella's phone vibrates on the arm of the couch. Then, everyone looks over.

Our girl keeps our expression and our posture at ease as she silences his call, but I won't be so simply overcome. His call like outstretched hand wakes butterflies from days of exhausted, discouraged sleep and makes me beat faster in spite of my meagerness.

When we lift our eyes and smile politely, everyone goes back to talking. Love doesn't leave a voicemail.

But after less than a minute, he texts.

_Come out with me_.

We know Mom's less likely to say no when we ask in front of company, even if it is just Grandma and Grandpa, and there is no guilt when we do exactly that. There's no hesitation when we lie straight to all their faces, saying we're going to hang out with Rose and Leah. There's no shame as we intentionally sneak and mislead and betray. There's not a single slip or crack in our demeanor. We're flawless. We're refined. And we're going to see him.

Staying dressed exactly as we are and slipping our feet into hot pink Toms that match our hot pink nails, Bella drops her phone into her purse and says goodbye to everyone with a kiss to her grandmother's cheek.

"Not too late," Renee calls on our way to the door.

Our eyes roll behind our sunglasses as we turn the handle. "Love you," is all we call back, and then we're out.

She's not moving nearly as fast as I would be if I had legs and a keys and a car.

She sits in the driver's seat for a moment, fingertip-smoothing out what's left of today's eyeliner. She puts the Rabbit's top down and pulls our clammy-damp-and-too-cool-for-May air-flattened curls up into a loose chignon. She sits back and breathes out, concentrating on moderating me and all our other impatient muscles. With a few measured exhales, she has a handle on the rest of our tissue and tendons, but I don't slow my swiftness.

I won't.

Not until we're in arms like home again.

With an accepting sigh, Bella shuffles her music and turns the Yeah Yeah Yeahs up as she pulls out onto the road.

"_I got a man who makes me wanna kill,"_ while we turn toward the freeway.

"_I got a man who makes me wanna die,"_ while we switch lanes and pick up speed.

"_I got a man who makes the devil pale," _while we head straight to sea-soaked wood that keeps our secret ever-safe.

"_We're all gonna burn in hell, because we do what we gotta do real well, and we've got the fever to tell..."_

Bella turns it down when we exit off onto a winding one-way street. We spot the black cherry Continental easily in the distance. It's the only sign of life for some miles, and sensibly so. The sun is still hiding, as it has all day, but if it was visible, it would be setting. It's too chilly for any sane person to be at the beach now, and it smells like rain.

Edward's leaning against the trunk, black on black on black. No gray. No hat. No sunglasses. Just a half-alive dusty delinquent, smoking a joint while he waits.

When we get out and walk to him, and his eyes find ours, I flutter. I don't have cheeks, but if I did, they would blush. If I had a bottom lip, I'd bite the corner of it, and had I lashes, I'd bat them like a sweetheart because I love, love, love when he looks at us. He's the only one that really sees us for all that we are and loves us still.

Even when we're un-made-up and bitter-spirited.

Even after we've locked him out and turned our back and ignored his call.

Even though we're thinner than ever and our nerves are shot and we've made every plan to keep dragging him through perdition for another four years.

Even with knowing full well all the things we've said and done and been, he still loves. He still needs. He still wants all that we are, always.

I listen closely for his heart as we approach him. I can't hear anything but the breeze and our own footsteps, though, no matter how near we get. He blows smoke up as we come to stand in front of him, and he offers us the joint. When Bliss shakes our head, he takes one last hit and flicks it away.

His pupils are drug-dark, but his clothes and skin and hair are clean. He's high, but he's not stumbling or slurring. He's not calm; we can see the chaos in his eyes, but he's composed, collected and in control.

There's no _hi_, or _hello_, or any other little words exchanged, just the steadily fixed set of his jaw and our carefully pressed together lips as he turns, opening the passenger door. We get in without much of a second thought, and he slides into the driver's seat a second later, turned more to face us than to drive.

He reaches, and not wanting to fight, so do we, and only then, only with the doors closed to the rest of the world and shaky-shelter wrapped around us do I finally, finally, finally hear his heart.

_Love?_ It seeks and pleads, weak as an anemic newborn. _Love? Love?_

I slip and surrender apart, opening, wanting to flow out to him as our bodies fold together.

_Love_, I assure and soothe and swear with whispered-soft cadence. _Love. Love. Love._

There's no sun to watch go down, but Bliss and Dusty embrace and lean and breathe as light fades to dark. They wrap around and press together and surround while the wind outside whistles and waves lap. They hold fondly and closely and quietly while an hour glides by entirely too quickly.

Half in his lap, half curled up, Bella shifts our weight, trying to work the pins and needles out of our arm. The Lincoln is spacious but our position is awkward, and there's nowhere to really go with the steering wheel behind us. But we don't want to move for anything, so we settle back down to endure the small price of being pressed so close to our soul's light.

But he knows. Or maybe he feels it, too. Either way, he rubs his fingers along where they rest between our shoulders, and tilts his head when we look up.

"C'mon," he says quietly, motioning behind him.

Not wanting to get out or even open the doors, they climb over the bench seat one at a time. There's much more room here, but they press closer still. Edward lies on his back, and we lie right on top of him. Stomach to stomach, Bliss lays our left ear directly over his heart and drifts while comfort and make calm.

_Love,_ his heart pulses, skinny and tenuous and fragile as a flickering flame.

_Love_, I pulse in soft symphony. _Love. _

_Love._

_Love._

They shift throughout the night, turning onto their sides to face one another. He bends his right arm for our head to rest on and wraps his left around our side, loosing the tie from our hair while our leg drapes and curves around his waist. He bends and unbends his fingers in our strawberry blonde, rubbing their tips along our scalp and stroking fallen strands back from our face as we swim in and out of consciousness.

He swims through sleep, too, though not as deeply as our mind and other muscles do. He slides his thumb along our temple and cheek, and brushes his lips against our forehead. He lets his eyes close, and in the softest, stillest, most silent part of the night, in the sacred solace of shared diastole, I hear it:

His heart, talking to him the way I sometimes talk to Bliss.

It's just as stifled by his habit as my own name is, but I hear it. I don't know if Edward hears or understands it, anymore than I know if or how well Bella hears or understands me, but I can't help shivering. I understand his heart's whisper with acutely, searingly sharp clarity.

In their stolen, secret, sort-of sleep, their hands find each others between our chests. Our fingers curl between Dusty's, and his arm that's under us, cradling our head, bends, bringing us closer.

I tremble.

_Love? _I tremor, terrified and unbelieving, desperate and unwilling to believe what it's saying. _Love? Love?_

_Love_, his heart vows with each beat, truly and sincerely and soothingly as a prisoner can. _Love. Love._

But between every tortured and muffled thump of my name, I hear it, telling him to let us go.


	37. Jar of Hearts

**It all started with a song:**

_No, I can't take one more step towards you  
>'Cause all that's waiting is regret<br>Don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore  
>You lost the love I loved the most<em>

I learned to live half alive  
>And now you want me one more time<p>

And who do you think you are?  
>Runnin' 'round leaving scars<br>Collecting your jar of hearts  
>And tearing love apart<br>You're gonna catch a cold  
>From the ice inside your soul<br>So don't come back for me  
>Who do you think you are?<p>

I hear you're asking all around  
>If I am anywhere to be found<br>But I have grown too strong  
>To ever fall back in your arms<p>

And I've learned to live half alive  
>And now you want me one more time<p>

And who do you think you are?  
>Runnin' 'round leaving scars<br>Collecting your jar of hearts  
>And tearing love apart<br>You're gonna catch a cold  
>From the ice inside your soul<br>So don't come back for me  
>Who do you think you are?<p>

Dear, it took so long just to feel alright  
>Remember how to put back the light in my eyes<br>I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed  
>'Cause you broke all your promises<br>And now you're back  
>You don't get to get me back<p>

And who do you think you are?  
>Runnin' 'round leaving scars<br>Collecting your jar of hearts  
>And tearing love apart<br>You're gonna catch a cold  
>From the ice inside your soul<br>Don't come back for me  
>Don't come back at all<p>

Who do you think you are?

Who do you think you are?

Who do you think you are?

**Chapter 35**

_**Isabella Bliss**_

It's here.

This moment.

The end of the countdown.

The day we're supposed to walk away. Be together. Tell everyone.

The day we're not supposed to give a fuck.

This was always going to be when we put ourselves first.

_Finally. _

No regrets.

No second thoughts.

No reluctance.

Just go. Just drive.

Be gone.

Don't look back.

Never look back.

_Runaways. _

"Are you nervous?" the girl behind me asks.

I look over my shoulder, but not at her face; I look at her right hand. She's rubbing a silver ring she's wearing on her pointer finger along her thumb. With the slightest movement of my eyes, I look further down her body; she's fidgeting, causing her gold graduation gown to sway. She's swearing black flats, and I can't help but think that they're not nice enough for this occasion. Meanwhile, my metallic heels sink in the grass.

I pivot and look forward, dismissing her.

I'm trying to ignore everything but the line in front of me.

Even him.

Especially him.

Because, one person at a time, I'm moving closer to my future.

Whatever it is.

"My heart is beating so fast," the girl whispers, trying to keep conversation.

Thankfully, the line proceeds as more names are called.

_Three more until it's my turn. _

I take a few more sinking steps.

_Two more._

I place my hand on the rail and set my right foot on the first step, finally reaching the stage.

As I stroll up—ready, smiling, faking—I turn to the girl, meeting her dark brown eyes, and say easily, "I can hardly feel my heart."

.

.

.

I can't keep up.

My mom is pushing me one way, and my dad is pulling me another. Mom wants me to take a picture with these people, and these people, and those people, and Dad wants to show off his only daughter to the entire Forks police department, who he probably forced to come watch.

All four of them.

My grandma is in my face, touching my cheeks with her cold hands. She's so proud of me. She knew I'd be great. She remembers the day I was born.

"You truly are Bliss," she says.

"Yeah, thanks. Sure," I say back.

_Whatever. _

Grandpa insists on squeezing my shoulder, like I might forget he's standing right beside me. He smells like Bengay and too much cologne—it's giving me a headache. My father's father slips me a twenty dollar bill and tells me not to use it all in one place.

Then he squeezes my shoulder again.

I see Leah and Rose. We exchange sincere goodbyes, as if this might be the last time we see each other.

_It might not be. _

_We may have the whole summer. _

Surrounded by our families, Kim, Charlotte, and I make eye contact as they pass by. Despite our history and despite what could be said, I don't exert the effort it takes to curve my lips into a smile. I don't say a word.

My mom calls my name … again. She's requesting another captured moment with my fucking French teacher.

This time I have no choice. I smile. And it drains me.

I slip under the arm of my educator and sigh.

As my mom holds the camera up in front of us, Madame Ancel asks, "In a hurry, young lady?"

I shake my head, leaning a little. "I'm just want to get home."

Madame Ancel holds me a little tighter. "_Rien ne sert de courir, il faut partir à point," __she says softly._

_There's no sense in running; you just have to leave on time. _

"Smile!" Mom squeals, taking the photograph.

I see Petey before I see Alice, and I see Carlisle and Esme before I see Dusty, who's walking at a slower pace with a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. Ben and Victoria are behind him, and further back, Mixie, Kim and Charlotte follow.

For the first time today, I feel like crying. Ending this part of my life is heavy, and right now, I don't feeling like running. I want to stay right here. I want to never forget this. I want to hold onto it for as long as I can.

Because we're changing.

And it's my time to choose.

Alice has her gown completely unzipped, showing off the white dress she's wearing underneath, with her cap in her hand. Her hair is entirely blonde again and she's wearing a bow, but it's there because someone told her to wear it.

_I know my girl. I know her. _

Ally's cream colored wedges are in her hand, leaving her feet bare. Pink-polished, her toes dig into the muddy grass as she walks faster, coming right for me.

Kicking off my heels, I meet her halfway.

We collide and we rock and we tilt and we cry. Closing my eyes, I hide my face in her neck and ignore the boy who I know is not ignoring me.

I try to give all of my attention to the person who should have had it all along.

"_Bliss," _Alice cries. _"Bliss. Bliss. Bliss," _she repeats.

I take in her smell and her feel: cookies, sticky like sweat. I kiss her with wet lips, and I whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

With Alice's face in the palms of my hands, I can see Edward behind her. He's standing back, eyes hidden behind Ray Bans and hands sunk in pockets.

The cigarette gone.

Beside him, Carlisle and Charlie are trying to be cordial. They congratulate one another for raising a high school graduate, gracelessly.

Esme's crying, but she's trying to hide it. She hates that Alice and I have grown distant, so this is a small relief for her.

Ben wipes her eyes with the sleeve of his white button up, ignoring the smudge of makeup it leaves on his cuff.

At our side, Kim is ignoring Pete, and Pete looks uncomfortable being avoided. Victoria wants to leave, Mixie wants to get high, and Charlotte will do whatever the others tell her to.

Mom is begging for a picture.

"Come on, girls. Just one so we can leave," Mom says, lying. She'll never be able to take only one.

Alice and I smile at one another, and my unrested heart kind of, sort of buckles. As much as I want this, it's already gone. We can stand here all evening and cry. My mom can take hundreds of pictures. We can say whatever we want, but this friendship has already passed it expiration date and there's no going back.

"It feels like we broke up," Alice says, wiping my tears away with her thumbs.

I don't do the same for her.

"Don't break up with me," she says. "Things can be the same."

_Lie. _

"Okay," I say, looking away. "I swear."

_Lie. _

We split apart after that, and I'm being passed around again. This time I don't mind, though.

Ben picks me up and Petey pulls my hair, and I know these guys, too. I cherish them. I love them. Ben and Petey have always been around. They're my boys—The Boys.

When we were little, dumb and dumber made Sleeping Beauty cry, and as we got older, one carried me, running, and the other drove the get-away car. They protected me in high school hallways, and saved me from overcrowded parties when I couldn't get out the door alone. They bought me Slurpees at midnight, and showed me why three joints are better than one. They got shy when I got boobs, and they let it be known that little sisters are off limits.

They're my defenders, my redeemers … my friends.

Next, Victoria smiles at me. "Little sister," she says, running her hand through my hair like she has so many times before.

Kim, Charlotte and I go on ignoring each other, but Mixie gives me a hug, and it's not completely awkward.

Like it or not, I know these girls, too.

Then I'm in Esme's arms, and I'm crying some more. I bury myself in red and hold on like she's my own mother. Her hair smells like the Cullen home, shifting my heart once more.

"I'm so proud of you, pretty girl. So, so proud," she whispers.

From Esme, I go to Carlisle. He's tall and dignified, and just as intimidating as he was the very first time I saw him after his son stole my nail polish all of those years ago.

"Princess," he greets me, just like he did then.

Carlisle slips me some money, and it's much more than the twenty bucks my grandpa gave me.

He's always given me so much.

They both have.

After love's dad kisses the top of my head, there is nowhere to go other than to I'm not ready for him.

I probably never was.

He pulls his hands from his pockets and lifts his sunglasses to the top of his head. As a consequence of the night we spent, his eyes are half-sleepy-swollen and red. My boy's expression is an assortment of unhappiness, denial and determination, and I recognize unpredictability in his posture and volatility in his stare, like he can somehow change the inevitability we've been silently troubled with.

Love is killing us softly.

Recklessness takes a few steps toward me, and Mom snaps a picture. I keep waiting for my heart to leap, but it gives nothing more than a low thump. Not even when he pulls the end of my blonde-red curl.

It's so tired.

"Congratulations, sunny side." His straight smile swerves with my hair between his fingers.

My pulse should be pounding, pumping blood to my cheeks, but it's struggling.

It's dying.

Giving up or giving in … I don't know yet.

After a moment, Edward hasn't backed away, so I smack his hand and warn him with my own sleepy-swollens: _too close, boy._

He drops his sunnies back over his eyes, and when he smiles this time, he's allover hoodlum with awful purpose.

And still, my heart is thin.

Edward leans in, taking my wrist in his hand. "Don't look at me like that, Bliss. You're breaking my fucking heart."

Mine drops to a low beat while the rest of my body searches for his smell, his touch, his affection. My senses are looking for something to hold onto. Something to remind me. Something to pull my heart back up.

As we die, everything slows.

He smells like a boy. A normal boy. Like laundry detergent or his brand of shampoo, with a hint of the troublesome I need beneath. And his touch is not much more than a touch, but he's trying, fighting fate. Affection is lacking, self-satisfying and self-seeking, but it's still only for me.

His grip on my wrist is not genuine, but cautionary.

_Stick to the plan,_ his hold says. _Now or never. _

I know.

Feeling desperate, when he pulls me in close, I let him. I allow the front of my body to press against the front of his, expecting to light fire. I look forward to the rush of love I normally feel when he's this near. I crave it. I need it. _I need it._ I do.

But it's only a hum.

"I love you," I whisper, because I know it's true.

Edward laughs.

His arms circle around my shoulders, and mine are secure around his lower back. Anyone watching us probably thinks we're cute. Like, we've known each other for so long, of course we're this close. I kind of, sort of hear my mother's stupid camera clicking, and I hear Esme say, "She's like a sister to him."

My boy holds a little tighter, and so do I.

"Tell me," I say like a breath, smiling so no one knows this is torture. "Say it, Edward."

He turns his head into my neck and whispers, "I love you."

My heart is as quiet as the blood in my bones.

_Love is knowing._

Digging my fingers into his back is all I can do to keep the earth below my feet. I close my eyes and cling onto what we have left, hoping it's good enough, intending to make sure it is.

We've been hugging for too long, though, so I drop my arms.

Edward doesn't let me go.

"We can leave, Bliss," he says desperately, like it's the last time he will ever ask.

I grip onto his sides and try to push him from me; I can't get away, though. I never will. I might try to, but I won't ever get far.

_I hope. _

His hold on me is reliable and proves failing-hearts faulty.

_I pray. _

"The car is right there, baby. Just get in," he whispers, like it's ending him.

Then his lips are on my neck and the tiniest pinch of my skin is between his teeth. Before I have a chance to think, my hands are moving on their own, pulling him closer before shoving him away. I have to force my legs in place. They want to run—to him, to his car ... away from the looks we're getting now.

Edward takes a few steps away from me.

His smile is daring.

It says, _"Play it off or play it up, girl."_

I half-laugh, overwhelmed. "You're such a jerk." But like a shot of life, my heart picks up and my cheeks are warm, and it feels so fucking right.

His smiles falls, though.

I place my hand over my heart and it pulses in spite of me. It's pumps blood through my veins and arteries and lungs, keeping me alive; even heating the tips of my ears, now. If it would just stop, this would end. But it won't. It gives me no choice other than to to witness what Edward and I are becoming … what we're doing. I have to live through this moment—which is everything it was never supposed to be.

Death would be so much easier.

With less enthusiasm and uneasy posture, Mom calls out that she wants a picture of all of us. Instinctively, Alice and I stand side-by-side. I want Edward to take advantage of the brief opportunity we have to touch easily. I want him to put his arm over my shoulders, and I want to put mine around his waist, and I want us to smile … like nothing is different.

But he stands beside his sister.

Mom isn't happy with only the three of us. She herds in Petey and Ben, too. And when Pete stands next to me, I circle my arms around him instead his best friend. Benjamin sneaks between Alice and I and leans his head on top of Alice's.

Still, Mom's not satisfied.

"Come on, girls," she says kindly to the Sluts.

They're taken off guard, but oblige. Awkwardly, the girls stand in a row beside Pete.

"Closer," Mom says, looking at us through her camera screen.

My heart is steady beat, beat, beating, and my stomach is twist, twist, knotting. My boy is impatient, shifting next to his sister, patting his pockets like he does when he's ill-fitted. As Victoria moves herself between Ben and I, I hold onto Petey as tightly as I can. He helps by holding me to his side. Kimberly moves to his right, and he puts his free arm over her shoulders. When I look up, he's madly grinning, like he knows.

With Charlotte and Mixie at Edward's left, we squeeze in as tightly as possible to fit in the frame.

Connected.

Linked.

Bonded.

With our parents on one side of the camera, and the disparate youth on the other, Mom says, "Say cheese!"

In unison, like an opus, we do.

I smile so high.

And it takes no effort at all.

Because like it or not, these people have always been my closest friends.

After a couple of flashes, we gap and separate, and the moment of simplicity is gone.

With only a couple of feet between us—twenty-four inches that feel like five hundred eternities—Edward shakes his head with a sad half-smirk, keeping his eyes away from me.

When Pete asks him if he wants to take off, I watch my boy answer.

I watch him walk out of my direction, and I watch him get into his Lincoln.

I watch him drive away, without me.

When it was only ever supposed to be with me.

.

.

.

"Hang out with me, like we used to. Spend the night. Spend the weekend," Alice said while we stood in the school parking lot, before I got into the car with my parents and she got into her Jeep alone. "It's only right we're together," she said. "You're still my best friend."

I agreed. I told her I'd call her later. After dinner, maybe. Probably.

"You better," she said.

The drive from the high school to home is short, but I still get lost in myself. I stare out the window, watching the same shade of green pass—the same shades of mud and wet and moss and gray. My dad has music on low, but nothing registers. Nothing is distinct. Everything is flat, fixed, and bland. My parents whisper between themselves, but their words are white noise.

Until Dad pulls the car into the driveway and asks, "What the hell was that, Isabella?"

I hear him clearly.

Settling back into my role is seamless, but not facile. With years of practice and the help of my body, I sit up straight, I smile, and I force my voice out. My eyes light up, my cheeks redden, my dimples dip. Everything clicks into place, and I'm no longer the girl with the underworking heart, but the daughter they're used to me being. I'm Isabella Bliss.

I play stupid. "What?"

Charlie meets my gaze through the rear-view mirror. "Edward," he says.

I roll my backed-up-with-tears eyes and smirk. "Dad, nothing. It's just Edward."

"We don't like it," Mom chimes in, with so much implication behind her tone.

With my hand on the door handle and my stare on the back of my mother's head, I say with a little more spit than I should, "You don't have to like it."

I open the door and step out with my right foot, and I'm tempted to leave the conversation as is, but I don't. Before I get out, I say, "There's nothing for you not to like. I'm like his..."

"Little sister?" Dad finishes my sentence for me, cynically.

And this time I just get out.

.

.

.

The conversation is apparently far from over.

I'm sitting at the table picking blueberries out of a muffin I have no intention of eating, in my graduation gown I have no will to take off. My eyes are tired and so sore. I can feel their redness. Aches and pangs and strains are the only things I can feel at this point.

Digging though my muffin, I notice my nail polish is marred. My cuticles are inflamed. My nails are bitten down. My knuckles are cut up, like his always are. My finger tips are tender from so much clutching. I roll my wrist and extend my fingers and think, _these are the hands of a desperate girl. _

"It's not Bella I don't trust," my dad says, opening and shutting the fridge.

I breathe though my nose and sit back, pushing my mother's homemade effort toward the center of the table.

"She's a seventeen-year-old girl, Charles," his mother replies, winking at me, taking my side.

Like I care. Like anything being said matters. It's me and Edward. That's all. That's all there ever will be.

_I hope. _

"He kissed her because he knew he could. He took advantage of her." Dad cracks open his beer. "And she's going to college—then what? Who else will do the same?" he asks, truly concerned.

Like I can't take care of myself. Like I'm not smart enough. Like I'm too naive about the real world.

They're so fucking ignorant.

I'm self-sufficient. I'm a fucking expert on real life.

Edward taught me.

I know how to use my fists, and I know exactly how to survive on my own.

He showed me about narcotics and villains, and everything else my parents keep in the dark. I'm street smart, thanks to him. I'm hood smart.I'm alert. I might be too aware, even, because it's my life. I've seen assaults and witnessed drug deals—I know the pusher. I can roll a joint with my eyes closed. I know the difference between kush and ditch weed. I know what cocaine looks like. I've felt it. Fought it. Flushed it down the toilet.

I roll around with criminals and addicts and sluts and alcoholics. I know a girl who had an abortion, and I know a whole group of girls who have fucked for drugs.

My boyfriend is white trash.

So are all of my friends.

And I'm just like them, in prettier dresses.

Alice and I used to go through her father's work files, so I've read all about and seen pictures of rapists, murders, child molesters, and thieves.

I've had sex.

Sex my parent's wouldn't even believe.

I spent a large amount of my childhood in the Cullen house and they don't shelter their children. They prepared me for the real world. They showed me what it was like. They taught me what to look out for.

Because of them, I'll be fine.

With Edward, I will be fine.

I know I've been so fucking selfish. I know I can't be without him. I can't be one place and him another.

I won't live in a dorm. I won't separate us. We have to be together. Always. We're hurting so much and we're falling apart, and he's pulling away because of me, because I couldn't break from this role I play. Because I didn't recognize it was time.

It's our turn.

It's us.

Us.

My mom is grating cheese for the enchiladas; the meal she thinks is my favorite. The meal I told her I wanted on the day I graduated high school. The meal she is making especially for me.

_I'd rather be eating McDonald's in the passenger seat of the Continental a hundred miles away. _

"Maybe she can live here for another year. Kirkland isn't that far," she proposes, as if I'm not in the room.

Like a month ago, she wasn't trying to frame my acceptance letter to Northeast.

Like I don't exist.

Like my opinion doesn't matter.

And when Dad agrees, suggesting they buy me a new car so I can commute, I finally say:

"Do you think I've never been kissed?" I scoff in disbelief. "Because I have been."

Grandma laughs, but Mom scowls, and Dad warns, "Isabella."

I stand from the table and walk away from this sorry excuse of a graduation party and head upstairs. I asked if I could have friends over tonight. I wanted them all here, at my house. All of them. I wanted music and food and laughs and some sort of truth. But my dad shot the idea down right away.

"_I don't want any underage drinking in my house, Bliss," _he said. _"I'm the chief of police, Bella. How would that look?" _He jeered. _"What would the neighbors say?" "Maybe, but I'm chaperoning." "Maybe, but everyone needs to leave by ten." "Maybe, but no more than a few friends." _

It was easier to act as if I wanted enchiladas.

In my room, I dig through my purse for my cell phone. While it rings my boy, I open my closet door and search through hangers for something to wear.

My call goes to voicemail.

"Dusty." I sigh and hang up.

I turn my stereo on and change out of one dress and into another as I wait for love to call me back. My speakers sing, _"Who do you think you are?"_ my heart beats steady, my body moves on its own, and my mind chants his name—

_Edward. Edward. Edward. _

I pull a red cotton and lace dress over my head and brush my hair over my shoulder. I rescue pink jadeite from under my bed where I threw it months ago and fasten it around my neck where it belongs.

As I sit at my vanity, his name is on repeat inside of me—

_Edward. Edward. Edward. _

I pin my bangs back so I can reapply my , _"Don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore?" _I wipe off old mascara with a cleansing towelette, but it smears more than it removes. I rub, and rub, and rub, until my eyes are clean from black, but stay so last-night-red.

_Edward. Edward. Edward. _

I work on the other eye, then my forehead, and then my nose. When my face is concealer free, I stare at myself in the mirror. Freckled and blemished and purple and swollen, I look older. Fresh-faced and new-in-love no longer stares back at me. Like my hands, this is the face of a girl who struggles.

And it's not only my hands and face: my hair is lusterless, my skin is scarred, my eyes are dim.

_Edward. Edward. Edward._

When, _"I've grown too strong, to ever fall back in your arms,"_ surrounds me, my phone rings.

Without haste, I stand up from my seat and walk across my room. My phone is on the nightstand, vibrating in circles, singing a tune.

It's not Edward, and instead of feeling disappointed, I feel indifferent. I answer the phone without really taking notice of who it is, and say, "Hello."

"I'm coming to get you, girl," Alice shouts over music. "Ready to get your party on, Bliss baby?"

I walk back to my vanity and sit. With my phone between my shoulder and ear, I tap foundation on a sponge and blot it into my skin, covering war wounds.

"Sure," I answer. "I'll be ready."

Alice shrieks happily. "Pack a bag!"

"Okay," I say before I hang up.

Instead of setting the phone down, I set my sponge down. And instead of calling Alice back and telling her I have no desire to be anywhere near her, I call Edward. When I get his voicemail, I don't say his name. I hang up. And then I call Garrett.

He says my name.

Like a whisper.

Like a dream.

Like a fucking charm.

"Bliss."

My skin warms a little, but I have a hard time differentiating love, lust, and disgust with this boy.

He asks me to hold on while he goes into a different room. He's having a party. All of his family is there, he says. I don't wait, though. I just ask, "Alice wants to go out tonight. Are you?"

He's still walking, and as he does, the background sound melts. "I want to see you."

I roll my eyes, circling my brush in blush. "I heard something about Jake Black."

Garrett clears his throat. "Yeah, that's what Jasper said."

I apply pink to my cheek bones. "I'll see you there."

He's quiet, awkwardly. He has something to say, but he doesn't. "Okay."

_Pussy,_ the single thought breaks the chant momentarily.

With my makeup polished and perfect and my hair re-curled, I text Edward because he hasn't called me back.

_I'm going to Jacob Black's. _

I slip my feet into a pair of wedges and grab a cardigan from a hanger. I don't bother packing a bag. I have no aim with Alice.

I'll be with her brother. I'll sleep in his clothes. I'll sleep on him, under him, beside him.

I'll make sure.

As I gather my purse and my phone, checking my hair one last time, I realize I wouldn't give a shit if I never stepped foot in this room again. This house, its stairs, its backdoor … it was all a part of a routine and a path that brought me closer to a desired result: a life with Edward.

It always has been.

And I almost missed my cue.

Downstairs, my dad and grandfather are sitting in front of the TV. My mother is pulling food from the oven, and my grandmother, the first person who takes notice of my presence, is setting the table.

"Going somewhere?" she asks kindly, folding a napkin before setting it down.

_Edward. Edward. Edward._

Mom looks up from what she thinks I want for dinner and drops the pan on the counter, splattering cheese and sauce and green onions and black olives.

"Where do you think you're going?" she questions, tilting her head, scoping out my clothes and shoes.

"With Alice," I answer, without emotion.

"Bella, I made this dinner for you!" she exclaims.

Her cheeks are red like mine won't even become, and her hair is frizzy from the steam, and her stupid fucking apron is dirty, like enchiladas are some feat. Like they took all day to make and not an hour. Like, if I don't eat these enchiladas, her night will be trounced.

Like my very own loaded gun isn't out there, under the impression I don't want him.

And it's so sad my mother put all of her anticipation into these fucking enchiladas.

Her mother-in-law smiles and sets a few more forks down.

"Can we eat now?" I ask, instead of arguing.

"No!" Mom throws a dirty spatula in the sink.

The clink, clink, bang grabs my dad's attention, and so he's up and ready to investigate the noise.

I chew on my bottom lip and cross my arms, settling in for what will be one of the few arguments I've actually not gone out of my way to avoid with my parents.

I want this one.

I won't be deterred.

_Edward. Edward. Edward._

"What's going on in here?" Dad asks, deep toned and stern. He has a red stain on his white shirt, from dipping into dinner too early.

He looks at me, but my changed outfit and purse ring no bells for him. In his eyes, I could never do anything to disappoint either of them. I'm perfect. Idyllic Isabella Bliss. So blissful. So bliss-filled. I'm a little ray of Bliss.

Held tight Bliss.

Secured Bliss.

She'll-never-be-too-far-from-home Bliss.

Bliss, wrapped up in ivy and twine—protected.

Leached.

For all my sweat, my blood runs weak, and they have no idea.

None.

Mom pulls plates from the cupboard, flustered. But her hero is here, and this is the part where he takes my mother's side and I fall into place and agree with whatever they want. It's what I've always done because it's what I've always needed to do in order to keep an upper hand.

Not this time.

This time I don't have much to lose.

"Your daughter," Renee says, giving me a pointed look before turning her eyes to her husband.

Dad rubs his stomach, briefly looking at me before staring down his wife's cooking. "What about her?"

Mom laughs, but nothing is amusing. Grandma pats my shoulder as she walks by. Grandpa is struggling to get up from his seat.

Before I would have helped him.

"She wants to go out with Alice, Charlie." Mom begins to untie her apron. "But she went out last night."

When Dad looks at me, he finally sees. He scopes out my outfit, my hair, my sweater. His expression changes for the third time since entering the kitchen: decided.

"No," he states.

I don't say anything right away, and Mom is happy with Dad's judgment. She hangs up her apron, hands Grandma the plates, and grabs a clean serving utensil from the drawer. My parents start talking about marinated chicken and sour cream and using the good wine glasses because tonight is a special occasion. It's as if they don't even remember telling me I couldn't go be with my friends. As if I never asked. As if it doesn't even matter.

So, softly but severely, amid their commotion, I say, "I'm going."

Dad looks up from the plate Mom is helping him serve. "Bella, you're not," he says, dismissively.

I stand straight. "I am."

Forks' chief of police carefully sets down his plate and turns in my direction, red stained and firm. He takes a breath, ready to bring down the hammer, when my grandmother finally intervenes.

"Let her go, Charlie," she says. "Let her have some fun. Look how pretty she looks."

Dad shakes his head, but I won't be undone. I lift my chin.

_Edward. Edward. Edward._

"No, Mom," he says.

Grandma backhands her son on the arm, playfully. "Oh, stop. You can trust Bella."

I don't flinch at her words. I don't do anything but stand my ground, ready to turn and go. I'll run. I'll throw a fit like they've never seen. I'll fucking jump-skip-boogie if I have to.

I'm going.

Right on time, headlights from Alice's Jeep shine through the front window. She honks, and I shift my footing, ready for anything.

My parents share a look, and when Mom nods, I know I'm free to go. Without a word, I turn and leave. They probably think I'm so excited, like they're giving me a taste of life. A little dose of freedom. A real teenage experience—two nights in a row.

Lucky me.

_Whatever. _

"No drinking, Bliss," Mom calls. "Call in a few hours to check in," she follows.

"I want you home by eleven," Dad concludes.

"Sure!" I yell over my shoulder, agreeing with anything, because none of it matters. "Love you."

.

.

.

Alice is lit out of her mind.

In Chucks, jeans, and a Great Northern band tee, my used-to-be best friend has her hair up in a messy ponytail, her eyeliner is smudged, and her lipstick is wiped off. She won't stop bouncing her knee, and she's chewing gum with her mouth open, too fast and too loud.

Knocking on Heaven's door is playing under snapping bubble gum and fingertips fast-tapping on the steering wheel, and the song immediately takes me back to the day my girl got a brand new Jeep for her birthday. She didn't want it; she only wanted her sigh-boy, Jasper. She pouted, she kicked dirt, she pointed fingers, and she ran.

I was the only one who ran after her.

I remember her being so mad. She was outraged.

_How could my parents get me so wrong? _she screamed. _How could they not know how heartbroken I am?_ she cried.

So I sang, _Mama, put my guns in the ground, I can't shoot them any more_, and I held the end of my dress and twirled. I dipped and swayed and made kissing lips at my girl, until she laughed.

It was a real laugh, and it was honest. It showed all of her teeth—even the ones in the back.

Kind of, sort of how Edward's used to.

It's funny how shit changes, almost overnight … in the blink of an eye.

Not even two years later, I feel like I'm sitting next to a stranger.

I didn't wake up one morning, out of love with my best friend. The decay of our bond was a slow march. I knew we might end, but I never counted on it. Deep down, I always thought she'dunderstand. Maybe she wouldn't care. Maybe Alice would know what it's like, because she went through it with Pete.

It was only wishful thinking, and I was so fucking green.

I knew.

I always knew.

I started it. I lied first. I betrayed her before she ever did it to me.

I set our conclusion in motion, but I did not end this. After all, she doesn't even know my truth.

To her, I'm just a girl who's stuck in a small town, too afraid to think big, in fear of sex, and commitment, and broken skin and bruises. Alice thinks I'm afraid to get dirty, when in truth, I'm covered in her brother's dust.

I'm chin-deep in his filth.

I'm so fucking contaminated.

It's my curse.

While I have heart for this girl, I've already let her go.

_Love first. _

At a stop light on the way out of Forks, Alice presses her palms into her eyes. "Ugh," she groans. "I took some shit and I'm fucked up, baby Bliss."

I want out of this vehicle, but she's a means to my end.

I sit back and roll my eyes, mentioning nothing when the light turns green, then yellow and back to red.

Ally keeps rubbing her eyes; she's bouncing and scratching and chewing, and I know how this goes. Alice and her mother's pills are nothing compared to Edward and cocaine—she's such a fucking girl. When the light turns again, I get out of the car and walk around to her side. I open the door and order her to scoot over.

"I'm driving," I say, uninterested in her bullshit.

She goes, but it's an obstacle. Her foot gets stuck on the seat belt, she bumps her head on the window, and she drops her phone between the seat and the center console.

"Fuck!" she yells.

I get in and go, happy no one pulled up behind us.

The top is off so my hair is twirling and swirling above my head. Despite being late May, it's still a little chilly near the ocean at night, and the closer we get to First Beach, the thicker the air becomes. By the time I park a few houses down from Jake Black's place, my curls are limp and my eyeliner looks like Alice's. My skin is sticky-cold, and my attitude isn't much better.

On top of that, this girl is still digging for her phone.

I move her hands away and help her look. "What did you take, Al?" I question, bothered.

She sits straight and pulls down her visor, flipping open the mirror. Alice rubs black pencil out from beneath her eyes and shrugs her shoulders.

"I don't know. Something new in my mom's cabinet."

I have to reach deep down, but with my pointer and middle finger, I mange to secure her phone and pull it out.

She squeals and takes it from me before kissing the screen. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, best friend ever!"

_Lie. _

"You're welcome," I say, reaching in the back for my purse.

Then Alice says, "I'm waiting for Jasper to call."

And I ask, "Jasper-Jasper?"

She sits up and slips her phone into her back pocket, nodding her head. "I, like, miss him."

With my purse on my lap and my opinion kept to myself, I rake my fingers through my hair and pinch my cheeks until they're a prettier red.

Out of the jeep, hand in hand, Alice and I head toward Jake's house.

.

.

.

Nothing ever changes.

It's always the same people, doing the same thing, taking the same drugs, passing around the same girls, having the same conversations as they do at every party. It's the same music, the same red Solo cups, and the same helplessness.

The same madness.

In between other faces, I spot people I know right away: Lolita's in the corner with her boyfriend. Victoria and Ben are in the kitchen. Dimitri and Mixie are kissing in the hallway. Kim's taking shots with Jake Black and Charlotte. Garrett is at the keg, serving himself a beer, and Jasper's right beside him, waiting for his turn.

Everyone is here … everyone except Edward and Petey.

So I ask Alice, "Where's your boyfriend?"

With glossy eyes and a blank expression, she shrugs. "Dunno." And a second later: "There's Jasper!"

She tries to pull me, but I just walk, and eventually she just lets me go.

When I catch up, she and Jasper and doing that silent communication shit they used to do when they were together. She's smiling, and he's smirking. She's blushing, and he's arching his eyebrow. She's sighing, and he's crossing his arms. She's turning her head away from him, and he's tilting her chin back.

He knows she's high. He hates it. His disappointed eyes say so.

But she's a Cullen, so she doesn't give a fuck.

"Beer," Garrett bids, holding out the cup he was just filling.

I gladly take his offering and drink most of its contents in a single try. Garrett whistles at my attempt, and when my lungs feel like they're going to burst, I pull the cup from my lips and wipe them with the back of my hand. The cold beer gives me a brain freeze. I smile through it.

I don't get much of a head change, but I get enough to lighten me up. With a second sip, I swallow the rest and hand my cup to Garrett for a refill. Thankfully, he doesn't question my behavior.

Alice and Jasper are still smirking, and winking, and scowling, and sighing, and not using their words, so, even though kissable and quiet is fetching my beer, I turn and push my way through the kitchen, out the backdoor.

There's a bonfire lit in the center of the yard, surrounded by beach sand and the rest of the party. I hate when my hair smells like smoke, but I sit beside it anyway, in a spot by myself. After a few moments, my cheeks begin to warm and the tip of my nose starts to sting. I shift sand between my fingers and notice I didn't repaint my nails like I meant to.

I slipped.

I don't know where Garrett is with my drink, but I've become antsy and impatient. Sitting criss-cross, I lean back and forth, trying to see who's on the other side of the fire, or if I know anyone on this side. Coincidently, it's Lolita who spots me first, two people down.

"Need a drink, little sister?" she asks. Her dirty blonde hair is as board-flat as it was the last time I saw her, but this time she's lost red heart-shaped glasses, and instead of the striped bandeau and matelot shorts, she's wearing a collared duo-toned romper.

"Thanks," I say softly, taking her drink.

I sniff it before I sip, and when all I smell is vanilla vodka and Coke, I determine it's all right. When my lips touch liquid, I smile. So does she.

Not long after she's gone, taking the rest of the drink with her, Garrett sits beside me. "A little close?" he asks, leaning away from the fire.

I look over at literate and stylish and decide I love the fire on his skin, but it's my favorite reflecting off his dark hair. When he smiles, his white teeth shine and I laugh out loud.

He elbows me playfully. "What?"

I lean my head on his shoulder and sigh. "Nothing."

We're quiet for a little while, ten minutes maybe, before the awkwardness of silence sets in. As it does, I can practically see his words taking shape in the smoke in front of us.

I lift my head. "Out with it, man." _I don't have all night, _I want to say. _The love of my life is going to take me away. _

I'm wordless, though.

Garrett ducks his head. He plays with the sand between his feet. He tightens his jaw. And I've almost had enough. I'm ready to leave him, too. He can go have silent conversation with Alice and Jasper. I'm not in the mood for a guessing game.

But then: "We didn't get to talk at graduation—"

I'm relieved and I don't even know why. So, I cut him off. "I know," I say a little too quickly. "My mom wanted a picture of us, but—"

But then: "Bliss, I saw Edward kiss you."

My heart beats.

It pounds.

It fights inside my chest cavity and struggles to get through my breast bone.

_No,_ it whispers.

_No,_ it repeats.

Then: "Bella—"

Closing my eyes, wishing he wouldn't do this, I say, "Garrett, don't."

But he says, "Bliss, I know."

And then: "I know everything."

I cover my mouth with both of my hands and open my eyes. Staring at the sand in disbelief, I shake my head.

_No. _

I feel dizzy and unstable and—I don't know what to do.

I want Edward. I need him.

Love is knowing.

Love is knowing I need my boy.

And so I stand up.

Garrett does, too.

He touches me. He reaches for my arm. And I'm crying. So hard. I'm sobbing.

He pulls me closer, and I don't move away. I give him one last chance to mean something, but compared to Edward, he means nothing.

I press my face into his shoulder and whisper quiet goodbyes on his skin. I circle my arms around the back of his neck and run my fingers through his too-busy-sketching-to-cut hair. I let him kiss the side of my face. I stand a little closer because I love his warmth. I love his skater boy scent: grass and sun and summer. The smoke smell I hate on myself is so good on him.

"I'll miss you," I cry.

"I won't be far," he says.

But he doesn't get it.

This goodbye isn't for now; it's for good.

"I should go," I mumble, sliding my arms away around Garrett, placing them in front of me, between us.

Garrett doesn't let me go, though. He's still kissing my face, closer to my mouth. Little by little, perfect presses…

Until his lips are on mine and his tongue is parting my bottom from my top. Until he's inside of me the only way this boy has ever been—the only way he ever will be.

_No,_ my heart groans.

_No, _it seethes.

And the entire time his lips are moving mine:

_Edward. _

_Edward. _

_Edward. _

_Edward._

_Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward._

_Edward. _

_Edward. _

_Edward._

_Edward._

And my heart:_ Love. Love. Love. Love… _

When Garrett's hands move from my sides up to my face, I pull away. I'm out of breath and spinning, guilty and stunned. I remove his touch from me. I push his arms away. I take two steps back. When I bite my bottom lip and taste someone other than Edward, I instinctively wipe it away.

I wipe and rub and scratch at my mouth until my lips are raw.

As I do, I watch acceptance pass over Garrett's eyes.

Now he knows.

I turn my face away from the boy who let me wear his sweater when we were thirteen and bought me a Fun Dip on Valentine's day a year later. The person who rubbed my leg while I slept through a storm. Garrett, who draws me a card every year on my birthday. The only friend I have who lets me lean instead of leaning on me.

It doesn't hurt as much as it should.

But, I don't choose him.

I was never going to.

When I turn around and look back into dark brown eyes, I find that the conversations around us have hushed slightly and eyes are darting, and I have the same feeling I had in my bedroom before I left. It's the same awareness I felt with Alice, and my parents. It's the same changeless sentience I've always felt when dealing with something other than my boy.

None of it matters.

It's only him.

Only Edward.

Doing what I do best, I blanket distress with confidence. I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. I smooth out my dress and hair. I force my tears dry and jut certainty.

I smile.

I become Isabella Bliss.

It's not as strong with Garrett, though. It never was. This boy sees through my veil. He notices dark circles and collar bones and chipped nail polish. I know now that he was never fooled by my scarves and hoodies. Garrett knew it was Edward on the other side of the text messages in the middle of class. My skater boy watched me closely when Edward caught us kissing, and he knew then that deep blushes were only shame and guilt for kissing a boy other than my best friend's older brother.

Garrett was there when Edward fought Brady Fuller, and Jake Black.

He might have seen me leave school with my boy.

He might have seen us at the grocery store on my birthday.

He might know that pink jadeite is too precious to be a gift from my parents.

Either way, he wasn't fooled. He never was.

With his kiss only seconds old, still burning like a trespass on my lips, I say, "Garrett, you can't tell—"

Indifferent like I've never known, Garrett crosses his arms over his chest before he looks over at me—but his eyes skip. They pass by mine and lock over my shoulder. His posture changes, from jilted to guarded. His hands drop and fist, and his eyes narrow.

At the same time, my heart begins to thump its belonging-to-only-him beat. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and my fingers twitch, ready to grab. Blood screams his name as it flows, and joints and muscles, ligaments and tendons all work together, trying to move me. My body mechanically turns away from the fire, toward the house.

I can't see through all of the commotion. A chair gets thrown, a person is pushed down, glass breaks. There's yelling from the door, and an entire group of people trying to hold someone back.

Love is knowing who it is.

Some, who were just sitting around the fire, get up from their chairs and separate from their groups, choosing to run toward the disturbance to get a better look, leaving only Garrett and I near the flames.

And I know—I know before I see him.

I know it before I even hear Petey yell, "Edward, back the fuck up!"

And I know before I hear Alice ask, "Why do you even care?"

And I know before Garrett says, "This is what happens when you keep secrets."

My eyes meet Edward's as soon as the crowd falls apart. He's despondent in a black and red flannel, buttoned all the way to the top. His hair is long under his black hat, and his slim-denim is hang low. The lace on his right shoe is untied, and his car keys are in his left hand.

Behind him, Petey's shouting in his ear. He has his hand on his shoulder; my boy keeps shrugging it off, though. In front of Edward, Alice has her hand on his chest. I can't see her face or read her lips, but I know.

He moves her to the side.

_Go,_ my heart beats.

_Go,_ it pulses.

The love I love the most takes one more step toward me before Petey and Ben both pull him back by his flannel.

There's more yelling and more cursing and more crying, and I can't stand still anymore.

I break from my spot in the sand and run toward him. The closer I get, as I move through bodies, I keep love's eyes. His body is being maneuvered and handled, but his eyes are mine, deep-dark and unbound.

And I hear people:

"_What's going on?" _

"_Edward and Bella?" _

"_What?" _

"_Really?" _

"_No fucking way!"_

Dusty is a shell of the boy he used to be, cocaine-brittle and heart-failing, but love gives us both incomparable strength. It's how we've survived this long. He's breathing through his nose, working his hardest to get his best boys off his back. He gets one arm free and tries to go forward, but Ben pulls him by the neck of his shirt.

It rips.

Petey is talking in his ear now, low and smooth under the chaos.

"If you love her..." his lips say. "If you love her..." I read again.

My hooligan is too far gone, though. And these people want a fight. They want to see Edward do what he does when he fucks shit up. It's why they love him so much. They instigate his madness.

"_That's your girl,bro?"_

"_He was kissing your chick, Dusty?"_

"_I thought little sisters were off limits!"_

With twenty people between us, I get elbowed in the chest. I get pushed back. I get pulled back.

Not for my own safety, though.

Garrett is meeting Edward head on, and I am in his way.

He pulls me by my arm and pushes me to the side. I don't catch my footing and fall into the side of the house, scraping my forearm on stucco.

It bleeds.

I try to run back into the crowd, but this time nimble arms circle around my waist and turn me from the struggle.

Without bothering to know my captor, I push down on arms and kick my legs. I scream, "Let me go!" and I cry, "Please!"

I'm being held so tightly, I can't breathe. I'm being kept, and no matter how hard I fight, I'm not being let go.

"Bella, stop," a voice I know so well whispers in my ear. "Stop."

Being held by her only makes me more angry. I stab my fingernails into Victoria's hands, but she only laughs and holds tighter. I elbow and squirm and stomp and yell, but the girl who had Edward first does not waver.

I fight until I can't anymore, and then I just give in.

With nowhere to go, caught in Victoria's grip, I watch the crowd move and move and move.

I watch Garrett reach for my boy.

I watch Ben and Pete release Edward.

And I watch love and confusion fall to the ground.

Through legs and arms and spaces between people, I watch my boy inflict and endure pain. For every blow he gives, he takes; but there's years of anger behind his fists. Years of watching me be with Garrett. Years of me saying no. Years of drugs and hiding and disappointment and anger and hurt and neglect.

He's wanted this since he pulled Garrett's sweater off my back, and all this waiting is regret.

To the side, Pete is pulling Alice back now. And beside them, Ben has his arm out in front of Jasper.

The party reacts to each hit, each kick, each cut lip and busted nose. But in true Dusty form, after a few minutes, it becomes scary and the crowd quiets. They spread out and stop laughing. Girls scream, but not a single one of them is louder than Alice. My boy's boys look at each other, wondering if they should break it up.

Jake Black kind of, sort of moves forward like he might, but he knows better. He knows first hand.

Jasper and Ben start pushing each other; Jasper wants in, but Ben knows, too: you can't bring Edward back from this.

And me, unable to watch anymore, I turn in Victoria's arms. "Vic, please!" I beg. "Please let me go." I push down on her hold.

Her eyes shift from my face to the fight, unsure but considering.

"Please," I groan between closed teeth, using her chest to push myself back.

I consider biting her face, pulling her hair and punching her in the stomach, but she finally lets me go.

When she does, I run.

This time, people move out of my way. They look at me as I pass. They wonder how they missed this.

When I reach Edward and Garrett, Garrett is fighting his way out from beneath my boy. His eye is already bruising, and his nose is bleeding. His knuckles are raw, and the neck of his shirt is ripped. His shoes skid and push and dig into the concrete underneath him, trying to gain leverage. Edward is all over him, though, just as beaten and bloody.

Garrett is at a huge disadvantage, though: Cocaine has Edward's back.

My boy will bleed to death before he stops fighting.

When Garrett finally gets to his feet, he pulls his torn shirt off and throws it to the side. He's breathing hard and crying, but nowhere near giving up.

"Come on, motherfucker," he instigates. "Get up!"

When Dusty stands, his flannel is ripped and his hair is blood-coated. His eyes are wild, and his lips are curved. Unknowing, he spits blood right near my feet. He wipes his cut lip with the back of his hand and rushes toward Garrett.

They collide and fall into the sand around the fire pit. Embers and smoke and ash swirl together above the flame. Still silent, still scared, still contemplating what to do, the party follows the battle instinctively.

With Garrett under Edward again, I know it won't be long before Edward really hurts him.

I'm not the only one.

Through thick tears, I watch Petey hand Alice over to Kim. When Ben notices Pete, he follows and so does Jasper. The three of them pull Edward off Garrett and pin my boy to the ground, giving Garrett a chance to get up.

The fight's over, but the party's still in shock. Edward's thrashing and struggling to get up from the sand. Petey's sitting on his legs, and Ben and Jasper each have an arm. Edward arches his back and kicks his feet. Sand flies and spit sails. Tears runs down his temples into his bloody hair. I can see the veins in his neck and hear the torment in his raspy-sore voice.

This is usually the part when Edward says something funny, breaking everyone from their trance. Something to show everyone fighting is fun, and it's no big deal. Something to trick these people into believe he's under control.

But that's not happening this time.

Edward is fucked up and way past control.

This is reality.

This is my boy's life.

This is the scary truth.

This is our deal.

.

.

.

Five minutes later, Edward remains rampant and convulsive.

I'm standing a few feet behind Petey, afraid to say a word or make a move. A lot of the party has cleared from Jake Black's house, too sober to stick around, and too uncaring to make sure everything is okay.

People like the invincibility in Edward. It's his tough exterior and sharp tongue that draw them in. He's a king, and when they're around him, they feel like one, too. His swag makes pussies wet, and all of these kids want to be just like him.

Edward Cullen will never fall.

Edward Cullen is undestroyable.

Edward Cullen will be forever young.

But this is what drugs have done to love—it's what living fast makes.

Indestructible Edward Cullen is being pegged to the ground, crying like a child, fighting off his best friends, begging for his freedom.

Is that what kings are made of?

No.

He's just a boy.

My boy.

Addicted and broken.

"Pete," Edward groans, his tone thick with tears. "Get the fuck off."

Petey half-laughs, struggling to keep Edward's legs down. My boy manages to get his left foot free, but Pete is quick to recapture it. And while Ben is concentrated on keeping Edward's arm pinned to the ground, Jasper's concerns are elsewhere.

In the corner of the yard, Garrett is still shirtless and raging. He paces, back and forth, back and forth, tearing up the lawn with his madness. Jake Black and a few others are keeping their eyes on him, making sure he can't go after Edward again.

He tries, though.

Garrett shoves Jake to the side, only to be held back by another.

Thirty seconds later, he tries again.

And again.

Until he's loose.

"Get the fuck up!" Garrett shouts, running over. "Come on, motherfucker. You want to bruise someone, bruise me!"

_He has it so wrong. _

Everyone who's left standing closes in. Jasper lets Edward go and rushes to his best friend. Victoria and the Sluts circle around Dusty. Alice takes over the arm Jasper abandoned. Jake Black and the guys from the corner linger behind Garrett, and I stand in the pathway between love and friendship.

Based between two different worlds, over the yelling and the struggling and the crying, I notice everyone's eyes are suspicious and questioning. They're looking at me, placing blame, wondering if it's really true.

Vic, with my scratch marks down her arms, stares at the person she thought she loved before looking over at me.

_Tell me,_ her eyes ask. _Tell me. _

Jake, who still wears a scar, scratches the raised skin on his eyebrow. He looks at me, and then he looks at Edward, like it all makes sense now and he won't ever make that mistake again.

Jasper, who's stuck firm in front of his friend, looks at me every time my name passes Garrett's lips. And as Garrett says things like, "He busted her fucking headlights," and "Remember at the beach … remember when Bliss was crying?" Jasper's expression gives nothing away.

His words do, though.

"Fuck Bliss," he says.

"She's not fucking worth it, Garrett," Jasper spits, turning away from me. "She's a fucking liar, bro. She's just a slut, G."

It almost hurts.

Garrett calms while Jasper talks to him, and when I notice him nodding his head in agreement, I turn away with no intention of turning back.

I want to leave.

I want to be away from this place.

I want them to let Edward up so we can go.

Moving Charlotte and Kim out of my way, I get closer to my boy. His face is red and his bloody teeth are clenched and his hands are bleeding, not only from the fight, but from being dragged on the concrete by Alice and Ben. Edward's kicking his legs, but Petey has a firm grip. Love's hat is lost and his eyes are swelling. His lips is busted and his clothes are ruined.

"Let him up," I say, pushing Petey.

"Someone get her the fuck out of here!" Petey yells, shrugging me off, holding harder.

No one moves, though. No one fucks with Dusty's girl.

So I push Pete again.

When Edward notices I'm near, his crying becomes worse, more raspy and desperate.

"I saw you, Bella," he cries, fighting for his arms. "I fucking saw you."

I ignore him and pull on Petey's shirt until he falls on his bottom, and when he tries to move back toward Edward, I don't let him. I hold out my hands and keep him away, protecting my boy.

"Stop, Pete," I cry. "Just stop."

Leaning against Edward's kicking legs, with my arms extended and my eyes brimming with tears, my heart beats harder than it ever has.

_Love. _

_Love. _

_Love._

And I feel it. All of it. Years worth. Lifetimes worth.

Every lie was merited. Every secret meant something. Every stolen moment and hidden kiss and scarf covered wound came down to this. Fuck their looks, and fuck their questions. Fuck Alice, and Jasper, and Garrett. Fuck my parents, and his. Fuck college. Fuck cocaine. Fuck the whole wide world, because he's mine.

I choose him.

I choose Edward.

I just need him to get up.

But love is too far gone.

Once Edward's legs are free, it doesn't take long for him to fight off Alice and Ben, too. He stands up, and so do I, and now we're in front of each other, with less than a foot between us. I expect him to see me. I expect him to wipe the blood from his mouth, or fix his shirt, or to say something to everyone who is staring at us and waiting.

But he looks over me with hollow and forever-black eyes, and I don't even recognize love.

Instead, he turns his attention back toward Garrett.

"You want to kiss someone?" Edward says, taking a few steps in his challenger's direction.

Love shrugs his shoulders and circles his neck; he spits and squares up. I hold out my hands again, but this time up to Edward. I push against his chest and ask him to stop. I attempt to hold him back, but he walks right through me.

"Kiss me, motherfucker." Edward smirks, reaching for Garrett. "Come on, kiss me!"

Garrett tries to rush past Jasper, unafraid and still ready to scrap. His eyes are wild, and his fists are ready. It's a fight in Garrett I've never experienced before, but I should have known it was there all along.

As Edward brushes by me, I grip onto what's left of his shirt and close my eyes, expecting to be pulled.

I'm not.

Edward stops, and I hold on until my knuckles turn white.

With his hand circled around my small wrist, my boy forces my fingers from ripped cotton. He holds my arm up, glaring at me. Rather than cowering like anyone else would, I stand up to Edward. I give him my wrist, because his hold feels so suffocatingly right. I give him my eyes, because his are so fucking gone, he can just have mine. I say his name over his face, giving him air, because he's not even breathing.

"I want to go," I say, almost like a whisper.

Even if we're not a secret anymore, this is only for him.

My boy cracks a sarcastic smile as his fingers tighten impossibly more. "Yeah?" he asks.

I stand straighter, almost touching his chest with my own. "Yes."

Edward's eyes fall from mine, to my nose, to my lips—lips that still sting from being kissed by another.

My guy tilts his head in Garrett's direction. "That's not what you want?"

"No," I say without a thought.

He laughs, and all of his teeth show—like they used to. Except now, it's wrong. All of this.

Edward lets go of my wrist and takes a step away, killing me. "You fooled me, princess."

He turns, and I yell, "Edward!"

My boy stops again, and when he turns, it's some kind of crazy. He finally wipes his open lip on the back of his hand, and he moves blood-caked hair away from his face. Everyone is standing back, waiting for Edward to move...

"You want to leave?" he asks. "You want to get out of here?"

My heart pounds his name.

_LOVE. _

_Love. _

_love. _

"Yes," I answer.

His lips curve. "Look around, sunny side," he says.

I don't.

"There's strength in numbers, girl."

My eyes shift away from love for a half-second. All of our friends are standing around us, watching. It's only been a few minutes, but I'm already being met with uncertainty and mistrust. Alice has her hands over her mouth. Petey lurks in the far back, because he knew. Garrett is staring right at me, pleading silently. Nobody else will look me in the eyes. They kick sand with the toes of their shoes. Ben runs his hand through his hair, looking up at the stars. Jasper won't even face my direction.

They think they know.

They have no idea.

They're clueless to the roles they really played. How we used them. How we lied to them.

Pawns.

And our friends may feel betrayed now, but it's nothing compared to what they'll go through when they learn the whole truth.

Turning away from them is easy, though. Easier than I ever imagined it being. My only concern is Edward, and when I look at him, his eyes are on mine... and they're the only pair that matter.

"I'm ready," I say with my heart in my throat.

My eyes water, and my hands shake. Dried blood sticks to my elbow, and my arms and legs are covered with goosebumps. I'm losing everything that has ever been important to me; a veil has been lifted, and my innocence stripped.

But it's fine … as long as I have him, it's fine.

"All of a sudden?" he asks, still smiling. He pats his pockets, like he always does. "Why? Because you kissed this kid?"

I shake my head. Cold tears spill from my eyes, down my cheeks.

Edward straightens out his ruined-torn shirt. He rubs his face in his hands, and when he drops them, he's no longer smiling. The seriousness on my boy's face gives me a head rush. It's been so long since we've touched. It's been months since we've really talked. I thought I was losing us … I thought love was lost in all the bullshit, but it's here. He's right in front of me, all fucked up and weak, but my heart still beats his name. My fingers ache with yearning. I need him to cover my lips with his... I need the intensity only he can give me.

I'll take the bad, because there is so much good. For every busted headlight, there's history that cannot be duplicated by a person who draws me birthday cards, or a friend who kissed me so she would be my first. With Edward, there's soda floats and Hide and Seek. There's searching through the mud for jellies that have reached Hell, and notes in my locker. There's our dock and the roof and unlocked doors.

There's sparklers and stolen milk and Ray Bans for Christmas. There's his touch and his warmth and his love.

His love.

He would die for me, and I totally fucked him.

I let him down, just like everyone else.

I gave up on Edward, when my heart and my body screamed at me not to.

When he begged me not to.

Edward spits more blood on the concrete. He faces Garrett and says, "Go near my girl again and I'll fucking kill you."

Garrett doesn't reply, and no one else says anything.

It's like we're all afraid to move. We're quiet, with music from the house and waves from the ocean as our only backdrops. Edward laces his fingers behind his head and walks away from me. I keep my eyes on him, uninterested in looking at anyone else. It's only now that I realize my jaw is chattering. I'm freezing, inside and out. The tip of my nose is frigid, and my tears sting my skin as they fall from my eyes.

I stay in place, though. Frozen, damned, petrified … in love.

Edward walks to the side of the house at the very same time Kim dumps her beer on embers that were once the fire I sat in front of. Liquid hisses and steams as it collides with burning wood; she shakes her red cup, emptying every drop.

It brings everyone out of shock, and everyone kind of shifts positions.

Jake Black starts picking up beer bottles and trash. Ben hugs his girlfriend. Jasper takes off his shirt and gives it to Garrett. Alice just stares. And Edward ... is leaving without me.

I take a few steps, but I don't really start to move until I hear the side gate slam shut. Adrenaline that never really calmed pumps my blood and beats my heart. It moves my feet and thaws frozen limbs. Every nerve ending in my body sparks and erupts, lighting up dormant affection and taken-for-granted tenderness.

_I can't let him leave again … not without me. _

As I pass his sister, Alice grabs onto my wrist and jerks me back. I pull my arm, trying to get free, but she doesn't let me go. Her lips don't need to move for me to know what she's asking. Her eyes are screaming accusations, and her defensive stance is confirming her suspicions.

She knows.

Her best friend was never only her best friend.

With the rest of my body turned away from her, I pull down on my arm again. "Alice, let me go."

She does, like my touch is poison.

I run after love, through the side gate, out to the front of the house. A few people talk in a small circle on the porch, and they stare once I'm in sight. I spot Edward right away, walking to his car at the end of the street. I call his name, but he doesn't turn around.

Ignoring whispers from the group on the porch, I run across the lawn. I rush past Alice's Jeep, and Ben's BMW. I hurry under orange street lights and trip over a crack in the sidewalk. I press fallen leaves under my wedges, and I breathe in the cold sea breeze.

I wipe my eyes on my forearm and cry for him again, "Edward!"

Beside his Lincoln, Edward finally turns. I stop running, struggling to breathe between gasps and sobs. He's patting his pockets, finding his cigarettes in his back pocket. With the lighter inside of his pack, he lights up a smoke and chucks the Bic across the street. It hits someone's car before landing in the street.

He watches me the entire time I'm walking toward him as he smokes a cigarette with an unstable hand. The closer I step, the better look I get of his face. My boy is swollen and wounded, black-and-blue and cut. His knuckles are raw, and his eyes are bleak, with no trace of Edward behind them at all.

"You can't leave me," I say, in reach.

Edward blows smoke into salty air before flicking the rest of his cigarette into someone's yard. Half of his face is lit by the street lamp hanging over the Continental, and the other half is darkened by the night.

"Why?" he spits. "You looked pretty comfortable to me."

Love leaves me on the sidewalk and walks around to his car. He looks as he unlocks the driver's side door, scrutinizing me with cocaine-blacks, taunting me with a smug smirk and a condescending wink.

When Edward opens the car door and gets in, I think he might actually leave me.

He doesn't.

My boy starts the engine and presses on the gas, shattering silence. He flips on the lights and leans over to unlock the passenger door. When I hesitate, love opens the door and demands I get in.

"Get the fuck in the car, Bella," he says, righting his position. "Hurry up."

Cream colored leather is cold on my bare legs, and the windows are fogging from our warm breath inside and the icy air outside. I tug on my seat belt, but it's stuck. So I tug and tug and pull. Unsuccessful, I leave it, letting what I had slam into the side window.

I cry in my hands.

"What the fuck are you crying for?" Love asks, turning on the blinker.

The action is so simple, it makes me cry harder.

"I can't get my seat belt on," I say, filling my palms with sadness.

I want to lean forward and scream into my knees. I want to fall over and bury my face in his seat. I want to go back in time and leave after graduation like we were supposed to. I want to tell him I'm sorry, and he should know … he should know by now that it's only him.

But I can't.

I can't do anything but cry.

_Calm,_ my heart beats.

_Stop,_ it whispers.

"Put it on, Bella," Edward says sternly. "Put your fucking seat belt on, Bliss!" he yells.

I don't jump. I don't flinch. I don't do anything but scream into my hands.

Frustrated, Edward reaches over and pulls on the belt. Between my fingers, I watch his muscles flex under his shirt as he fights nylon. His jaw is tight, and his nostrils flare. Plastic cracks every time he pulls; he's breaking his car, but he doesn't care. He wrenches and forces and drags until the seat belt releases and pulls.

After he locks me in, he drives, not bothering with his own.

Heading back into Forks, Edward's cell phone starts ringing as soon as we pull onto the highway. He ignores it, driving with both hands on the steering wheel. The Lincoln's headlights fill the route in front of us, lighting up the trees. I watch the dashed yellow lines between the lanes, counting then as we get closer to home.

As upset as we both are, I'm also relieved. For the first time today, I feel like I'm finally where I'm supposed to be. So I stay quiet on my side of the seat, and I yawn as my tears stop and exhaustion sets in. My fingertips tingle and my eyes burn, but none of it's new. I've felt this heart-hurt before.

Edward doesn't talk, and I don't expect him to.

Unable to keep them open any longer, I let my eyes close.

I don't open them again until Edward stops the car.

When I do, I get one moment's peace. I'm with my boy, and he's looking at me with his hand on my knee. His touch is gentle, soothing, and even though his eyes are blueless, they're consoling.

This, I know.

This, I love.

I kind of, sort of open my thighs, hoping he'll touch me higher. I blink tired lids and curve lazy lips. When my boy slides his hand away from me, I sit up and look around.

"You gotta go, B," Edward says lowly, sitting back in his seat, looking straight ahead.

I rub my eyes, taking in my surroundings.

Wrong house, wrong driveway, wrong street.

"Why are we here?" I ask, tipping hysterical, staring at my parents' front door.

Love is knowing.

Even this.

I look over at my wrecking ball, who won't look back at me. I clutch onto his flannel and claw at the neck of his torn white tee.

He's crying. Slowly, quietly...

"Edward?" I question, ripping his shirt further.

He takes control of my wrists. He holds them in his hands. He looks at me with red-rimmed eyes and a quivering chin.

"Baby," he whispers.

"No!" I fight against his hold. I sit up on my knees and move closer to love. "Edward, no!"

He keeps me in his grip, but turns his face away from me. My kneecaps touch his thighs, and my tears drip on his denim. His beaten and bruised face looks worse than it did when we left La Push twenty minutes ago. Edward's almost swollen shut eye looks pitiful as he cries. He bites nervously on his bottom lip, reopening his cut. He licks his own blood away.

"Don't make me stay here," I beg. "Please … I'm sorry, Edward. I swear … I swear."

"Bella..." he trails off.

For the third time tonight, I try to free my wrists from someone's grasp. But this time, my holder doesn't let up. Edward holds me until his knuckles turn pink. As blood circulation slows in my hands, they begin to lose sensation, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters unless I have Edward, and he's trying to take himself away. He's trying to leave.

"I'll go with you," I say, twisting my wrists so I can dig my fingers into him. "Don't leave me," I cry. "Not again."

"Bliss, stop," he chokes. More tears stream down his cheeks. "I can't—we can't..."

Love knows.

It knows what this is.

"Please," I cry out, hiding my face in his neck, smelling vanilla and trouble and blood and aggravation—my boy. "Please, Edward."

Desperation moves me, and I force myself on his lap. I push my knees into his stomach until his part, letting me in. I kiss the side of his crying face while he keeps his grip on my wrists. Edward's eyes are closed, and his lip is bleeding, but it doesn't stop me from kissing him … biting him. I bite until he moans. I bite until his grip loosens, and when I have my arms free, I circle them around his neck with no intention of letting go.

"Don't," I say over and over. "Don't leave me. We'll go together, Edward. Edward!"

When he gives in, I feel it. His shoulders sink and his breathing quickens. His body molds to mine, eliminating space, connecting us completely. His lips press into the side of my neck, and his voice is a whisper in my ear.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he says.

I don't let go, though. I hold tighter. I'll keep us this way forever if I have to. We can't be apart. We can't—no matter what.

But love still knows.

I stay in place as he starts the car, and remain in his lap as he drives away. I cuss and yell and clutch while Edward takes us somewhere other than my parents' house. I cry and cry and cry, unable to restrain myself. I cry until I start to yawn again. I cry until my teeth chatter for a whole new reason. I cry until I'm shaking.

I cry until the car stops; this time in front of Edward's house.

"Bliss," he says softly, turning the engine off.

My eyes sting when I open them. They feel red, tender and irritated. I blink, looking out the back window over Edward's shoulder. A couple of hot tears spill over my eyelids, down my cheeks and onto my boyfriend's fought-dirty shirt. I keep my arms hooked around him as I look around, finding Alice's jeep parked on the far side of the house.

I turn my head, lying my temple on Edward's shoulder. The Cullen home is massive and completely dark. All of the windows are lightless and the drapes are closed. Not even the porch light is on. The swing, which has been reupholstered, delicately rocks with the quiet wind.

"Let's go inside," Edward says, breaking our silence with his punished tone.

Hesitantly, I drop my arms and sit up, still in Edward's lap. He opens the door, letting in cool air, and waits for me to step out first.

I touch my wedges to rocky pavement, listening to tiny rocks grind under my shoes. Standing straight hurts. My back aches, and my wrists throb. Straps, leather, and buckles dig into my feet, causing each step to pang with objection. I straighten my dress and lift my bra straps back into place. Meanwhile, the boy who's not my ghost anymore gets out of the Lincoln and shuts the door, sending an echo through the forest surrounding the house.

Edward spots Alice's car as he walks past me.

"Do you think she's here?" I ask, following him.

"I don't know," he answers quietly, pushing his house key into the front door.

Once the door is open, love steps aside and waits for me to enter before him.

The interior of the house is just as unlit as the exterior. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. Especially after Edward follows me in and closes the door, locking us inside a place which used to be a haven.

Through the dark, I walk slowly, deeper into the living room. I reach out for the sofa, pleased to find it's in the same place it always was. I don't sit, though. I wait. Edward walks toward the kitchen, and I know he's going to turn the light on, so before he does, I close my burning eyes and inhale through my nose … and for just a second, I remember how it used to be.

I think back on the days when baseball bags used to be thrown by the front door. I smile at the memory of love hiding my best girl's shoe in the washing machine. I drop my head and remember Esme trying to pass take-out as homemade. And I remember Carlisle, walking through the front door with a loose tie and a lazy grin, happy to be home after a long day at work. His presence used to make me so excited, like he was my own dad.

When the kitchen light flips on, I open up and look around. Nothing is the same. Edward's mother has been busy redecorating, like she does every season. Winter colors have been replaced with summer, and the old wooden coffee table has been superseded by a larger glass one. There are new pillows on the couch and a new rug in front of a new TV, which hangs on the wall. Alice's old school picture has been traded for her new one, while mine remains a year old.

_At least it's still up,_ I think before turning around.

I don't know when the last time Edward has been home was, but he isn't affected by the change in décor. My boy is at the kitchen sink, catching water in the palm of his hand. He bends down, cupping liquid into his mouth. He swishes and spits blood-pinked water before cupping more and splashing it on his wounded face. He does this over and over until it runs clear from his mouth.

Using a dish towel from the counter, love dries off his face and opens the freezer. He pulls out an ice pack and holds it against his most swollen eye.

Slowly, I go to him. I turn Edward toward the kitchen table and help him take a seat. He hands over the ice pack without a fight and leans back, tilting his head back so I can get a better look. The warm-golden shines from the ceiling uncover and highlight the injuries on my boy's face. Contusions and slices are not what bother me the most, though.

Edward's crying.

I lightly press the ice pack to his face and ask softly, "What?"

Between his knees, with his hands on my hips, love does nothing to hide his hurt. He cries openly, and loudly. He pulls me closer, until my knees buckle and press into the edge of the chair. I run my free hand through his hair, breaking up dried blood and knots.

"Tell me, boy," I say, kissing his forehead, fighting back tears of my own.

"You and cocaine make me crazy," he says, broken. Edward's shoulders shake and his head drops forward onto my chest.

I curve to suit him, circling my arms around his neck and lying my cheek on the top of his head. I hide us behind a curtain of strawberry-blonde. I move my legs from between him, to each side of him, straddling his thighs; the tips of my wedges brush the kitchen floor. The ice pack drops.

He kisses the side of my throat.

Under my chin.

The corner of my mouth.

"Bliss..." he cries sadly. "Bliss..." He whispers over my lips.

His broken and shredded fingers touch my face while my boy kisses each freckle and imperfection. Edward slides one hand behind my neck and moves my hair out of faces with the other. Love forces my head back so he can kiss across my collar bone.

But he's still crying.

And this feels like goodbye.

Unable to stop myself, I cry out as tears start to build and spill again. Salty liquid stings already-sore eyes, and already-tender fingers grip at the front of Edward's shirt. With his mouth near my ear, I press my wedges into the floor and push myself up my hoodlum's legs until where-he-hasn't-been-in-so-long feels what-it-needs-so-badly.

"Stay," I whisper through teardrops.

I circle my hips.

"Stay, Edward," I cry again, clutching onto the front of his shirt.

My boy's mouth is unmoving, and his hands have a hold of my arms. He breathes uneven breaths right below my ear, and I feel it when his sadness drips onto my shoulders. But no matter how hurt he is, love cannot keep his body from reacting to mine.

I know.

I feel him under me, so I circle harder.

I whimper because he likes it when I do.

I let go of his shirt and lace my fingers into his hair and pull until he looks at me.

Nothing tastes better than Edward's lips, bloodied and slashed, defending what we are. I can savor the battle through each split lip. Blood tastes like justification. The swelling feels like protection. Each bruise looks like a declaration.

Edward tries to still my hips, but I push through him, thrusting up and back. He's hard between me, and I know we need this. No matter what he thinks. No matter how crazy he feels.

Even if our hearts don't beat the same.

I feel that, too.

Mine's crying, gripping as hard as we can.

Its beat is nowhere near as strong as it used to be... back when our biggest worry was waiting for Alice to go to sleep so I could sneak down the hallway into lifelong-love's room. The early days, when we used to roll around in powdered donut wrappers and make up the most insignificant, significant rules. When we used to play hide-and-go-seek in the dark. When this was easy. When love was new and hiding was exciting.

Before keeping our secret became a burden.

It still beats, through.

My heart skips and palpitates and jumps, plagued with years of abuse and misuse, but it still works.

He has to know. He has to be able to feel it.

Edward's hold on my hips softens. He kisses me back. Love relaxes into the chair, pulling me forward until our chests are touching.

He closes his eyes, and I close mine, too.

Our mouths make the best kind of love and it feels like being rescued. It's messy and hard and it hurts, but we open our mouths wide and our tongues reach so far back. Our teeth collide and his lips bleed against mine. I brush my fingers through his hair instead of pulling, and Edward circles my hips instead of holding.

My lips are soaking wet in a mixture of saliva and blood and tears. I suck on his tongue before I chew on his lip. I lick his teeth and groan into his mouth, needing more. I gag him with my insistence. I force myself on him. I give him no other choice.

We have to eventually break for air, though.

I bring my head back and stare up at the ceiling, and I gasp for breath.

Edward just moves his mouth down my throat. His arms are around me, keeping me secure...

"Not here," he says pressing his face over red cotton, between my breasts.

His hand slips under my dress. His fingernails scratch up my thighs. His palm slips inside my underwear.

So wound up, so caught in my victory … I don't even hear Alice come down the stairs. I don't notice when she comes into the kitchen. I wouldn't have cared to, anyway.

I feel it when she throws my purse at us, through. It hits the leg of the chair before settling at Dusty's feet. I hear the screen on my phone break when she tosses it on the kitchen counter. And when I look over my shoulder, I see my betrayal in the eyeliner running down her face. It's in the tremble of her hands and the shock in her eyes. It's in her silence. It's in her posture and her anger and the missing friendship bracelets that used to be on her wrist.

When Alice turns and walks away, I know I've absolutely lost my best friend.

It takes a moment before my eyes move away from the empty space she just filled in the kitchen, but I feel her void in me right away.

I didn't think I would.

I thought letting her go would be easy compared to the alternative.

I was wrong.

Slipping my fingers from Edward's hair, I cover my mouth and close my eyes. I try to breathe, but I can't take a full breath. I can't...

I just can't...

"You knew," Edward says lowly, pushing my hair over my shoulder. "We always knew, Bliss."

Grief moves through me in waves—immense rises and rolls. My stomach is in tangles and my heart is beating a little softer. My boy, despite being fucked up and beat up, tries to be consoling. He's rubbing my arm and stroking my hair.

He doesn't get it.

She will always be his sister, but Alice will never be mine ever again.

I hate him for it.

When I open up and look, he knows.

Edward's face shifts from soft to firm, and his touch changes from comforting to controlling. He sits up straight and moves me down his lap. He wipes wet eyes in the bend of his elbow and clears his throat, and his already-so-open pupils seem to expand more, swallowing up any vulnerability he was showing before his sister found us.

This boy is standoffish, thoughtless and cold.

This person is who Edward has become.

"I should take you home," he says, indifferently.

My boy crosses his arms and stares over my shoulder, purposely avoiding my eyes. His cocaine-blacks are so fucking taunting, like they're teasing me. Because they're winning—drugs are killing Edward, and it's beginning to feel like there is nothing I can do about it. I can't get through to him anymore. My usual weapons—affection, threats, sex—are having no effect. He's unreachable, and this feeling is worse than the slow death he is sentencing us to.

"And where will you go?" I ask pathetically. My voice cracks, and my chin quivers. Pressure builds behind my eyes, and my chest caves in.

Before he says anything, the front door opens and slams shut, knocking one of Esme's portraits off the wall. A few seconds later, we listen as Alice's Jeep starts and speeds out of the driveway. When she's gone, Edward pushes me off of his lap and walks toward the broken picture. He doesn't bother picking it up; he steps over broken glass and the photo of his family and opens the front door.

Still in the kitchen, I refuse to move. I'll hold onto the fucking chair if I have to. I'll climb the walls... I'll burn this motherfucker down. He won't make me go. Not without him.

He knows.

"Isn't this enough?" he asks, raking his hands through his hair. "What more do you want, Bella?"

"You're not leaving without me!" I scream, kicking the chair we were just sitting in.

I want to break it. I want to smash the entire oak table to pieces. I want to dig splinters in his eyes. I want to stab a shard through my heart. I want to do whatever I have to until he listens to me.

He's not listening, though. He's watching me throw a fit with a smirk on his busted lips. My anger and frustration entertain him.

"Kick it again, princess kid," he provokes amusingly.

With my hands fisted at my sides, I'm livid. I see red. I see purple, blue, and black. I see fucking stars I'm so damn upset.

So I scream and kick the chair again.

If I could, I'd pick it up and throw it at him.

Edward laughs.

His knees bend.

He tilts his head back.

His teeth show.

He holds his hands over his stomach.

I reach for the first thing I see and chuck it. It's not until the object leaves my hand that I realize it's an orange from the basket of fruit on the counter. My boy dodges my effort easily, so instead of throwing the basket of produce one at a time, I pick the entire thing up and throw it.

I toss the cookbook next, the garage door opener, and then a half-full water bottle.

I yell until my voice gives. I cry until tears blind me. I don't give up, because he's going to hear me.

When I've thrown everything but my purse and my cellphone, I reach for both, but he's here, grabbing and pulling me out of the kitchen. With my back against his chest, Edward holds my arms down and doesn't even bother letting me walk on my own. I trip over apples and glass and his legs. I thrash and fight and dig my nails into his not-even-well-skin.

He carries me past the front door, and I kick it closed.

I won't go.

I won't.

"Stop!" he's yelling. "Calm the fuck down!"

But I'm past calm. I'm hopeless and scared and so fucking heartbroken.

Because I know.

My heart is telling me.

My boy shoves me toward the stairs, letting me out of his grip.

"Get the fuck upstairs, Bella," he demands, turning me around and pushing me forward.

Lightheaded and desperate, I place my right hand on the banister and slowly take a step. Love's impatient, though. He's behind me, pushing me ahead; so I take two steps instead of one. Then I take three, tripping over my footing. Edward catches me by my elbow and helps.

At the top of the stairs, I stop, but only for a second. Edward walks around me, not even bothering with the hallway light. He doesn't acknowledge my presence at all.

He knows I'll follow.

Standing in his doorway, through my cries, I watch love pull off his t-shirt and drop it to the floor. He walks toward the window and opens the curtains, and even in the dark, I see dust scatter into the air.

He hasn't been here in a while. The room smells closed off and closed up. Everything is too tidy—too long untouched.

Guided by the moonlight he let in, Edward walks back and forth. He turns on the TV, opens his closet doors, and goes into the bathroom. He acts as if I'm not standing here, crying my fucking soul out.

His jeans hang low, showing his dark blue boxers. My boy is thin, and his skin is pale. From his fight with Garrett, his shoulders are scraped up and his ribs are bruised. Because of me, Edward has scratch marks up and down his forearms and punctures from my fingernails in his hands. Cocaine has him unsteady and antsy. He can't commit to one thing. He's washing his face, he's at his window smoking, he's looking through his clothes for a shirt, he's starting the shower... he's turning it off, he's asking me, "Are you going to stand there all night?"

Despite being scraped, bruised, scratched, punctured and unsteady, he's still beautiful to me.

I refuse to believe what my heart already knows.

I close the door with a soft click. I wipe off my face and force oncoming tears back. I move carefully, quietly. I reach under his ivory lampshade until my fingers feel the cool metal chain. With one pull, his room lights up in a dull yellow. I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the TV, even though I have no idea or interest in what's playing. It's movement and it's noise, and I need it to settle down.

I'm all hiccups and gasps and whimpers and quivers. My hands are shaking, and my eyes are slowly watering. It would be so easy to lie back and curl up in these sheets and blankets I've missed so much. But I need him...

"Edward," I say, unsteadily.

Shirtless, he's positioned in front of the TV with the remote in his hand. Like me, he's uninterested.

"I'm changing, B. Then I'm taking you home," he answers, evenly.

It would be impossible to be more upset than I already am, and we're here, in his room where things are always okay enough for us to deal. We've come this far, and we've been through so much. This will work.

It has to.

On my feet, I go to him. I place my unsteady hands on his sides and press my lips between his shoulder blades. Love's skin rises, and whether he realizes it or not, he leans into me. Edward turns the TV off and drops the remote. In my arms, the unbeating half of my heart turns and faces me.

I look up at him through wet eyelashes. He's not touching me, but he doesn't have to; his look is enough. His look is uncontaminated love and courage and forever and everything.

It's everything.

He's everything.

My hands slip from his sides to his belt buckle.

Love exhales an uneven breath over my face. He closes eyelids over chemical black and shakes his head. He covers my hands with his, but I don't let him stop me.

We have to do this.

We have to, because his heart is not beating like mine.

It hasn't been for a while.

And my heart has known all a long.

But love is trying anyway.

Using the tips of my wedges, I reach for his lips and brush mine on his. I pull black leather from it's brass buckle. I hook my fingers in his belt loops and carefully step backward toward the bed. Edward's eyes are open, but he's not seeing me. He's far away, buried within himself.

Hearthurt is streaming down my face, as if my tear ducts are the only part of me not fighting the unavoidable. They've given in, so they flow freely.

When the back of my thighs touch the mattress, I let go of Edward and reach for the hem of my dress. With my eyes on his face, I start to pull red cotton up...

He stops me, though.

"Bliss," he says lowly.

I try again, but his hands are still in my way.

"Please," I cry, helplessly.

"Hey," he says. "Come on, girl. Come on."

Love pulls me into his arms.

"My girl," he whispers, softly kissing the side of my throat. "My princess girl."

Even with his lips on me, I feel our loss. I cry out loudly, full of hurt and denial and refusal. I fall into him, pressing my face into his chest. I cry against his coward heart. I scream, and I sob, and I choke.

Edward turns me, kissing the back of my neck. He holds me carefully, like I'm a fucking bubble and not the love of his life. Like I'm not the girl he's been with since he was thirteen years old. Like I'm not the same person who has gone to Hell with him.

He's handling me like I might break. His arms are around my chest, but it feels so fucking temporary.

When he guides me onto the bed, placed on my hands and knees, I don't feel any better.

"I don't want to fucking cuddle, Edward," I say, harshly.

Love pushes my dress up and kisses my lower back as he pulls down my underwear, leaving my delicates at my knees. He palms my thighs, opening me up enough to see. My boy sinks his teeth into my bottom, making me whimper, just before I feel his mouth on my center.

His lower lip touches my clit, and he licks between my folds and pushes his tongue inside of me completely. I feel his teeth and his chin and nose. I feel his breath, and I feel his voice when he pulls back and moans, _"Fuck"_ against the part of me that has only ever been his.

Then he opens me wider and kisses me deeper … firmer.

I gasp and moan.

I arch my back, offering him more.

My boy trades his tongue for his fingers, sliding them in and out of me slowly while he kisses my inner thighs.

I concentrate on my heartbeat; it's steady, but only half as strong as it was the last time we were together. Even through this. Even though the rest of my body is sky high and lit up. With the sound of Edward unzipping his jeans, it should be racing. My lifebeat should be thrashing against my chest.

It's supposed to be flying.

Teardrops fall onto the tops of my hands. Elbows I refuse to let fall, ache in hurtful protest. My hair sticks to my cheeks as desperate cries are trapped behind clenched teeth.

Edward climbs in behind me, hard between my thighs, but not inside. He moves hair away from my face before placing his hands over my own, lacing our fingers.

Love tucks his face in my neck as he pushes inside of me. It's slow going and more painful than it should ever be. Not because it's been so long since we've been together this way, but because it's conclusive.

This feels like the last time.

"I love you," he whispers breathlessly, filling me. "I love you, girl. I love you," he cries, airlessly.

I keep looking at our hands.

Like his with me, my body could never not react to Edward. I'm wet where we connect, and my nipples are hard inside my bra. Goosebumps spread up and down my arms and legs, and across my back and over my stomach. My breath catches, and I moan. I let my head fall forward and to the side, allowing him more of the thin skin he adores.

He isn't biting or sucking, but kissing me so fucking softly. His hips move slowly, carefully... fully. He's taking care of me, paying attention, moving with thought. He's making sure I feel all of him, with no selfish regard for his own need.

My boy is making love.

I let my elbows buckle and slip.

I cry into the mattress, so smoldering and damaged.

We don't make this kind of love. This is fake. This is what other people do. This is not who we are, or who we will ever be. It's so fucking insignificant. It's a sad imposter. It's disgusting.

With my hands still pressed into the mattress, I push my hips back, forcing him to fuck me.

Edward groans into my neck. I feel his entire body tense up, because he knows. He knows what to do. He knows how we like it … how we need it.

"Do it," I say, muffled by the comforter. "Do it, you fucking—"

My soultaker holds my hips firmly, but with unusual gentleness. "Stop," he begs helplessly. "Let me, B. Let me."

I don't move or say a word, so Edward guides me from my knees to my stomach while he stays inside from behind. He covers every inch of me with so much of him. I feel his lungs expand on my back, I feel his pelvis on my bottom, and I feel the outside of his thighs against the inside of mine. He kisses the back of my neck and the top of my shoulder. He pulls my hair, but only enough to make me moan. Edward uses his teeth, but they barely brush the surface of my skin.

He loves me patiently.

He loves me kindly.

He loves me like this should have been our first time.

My entire body goes limp when I come. I sink into the bed and let go. Overcome and overwhelmed, I can hear myself crying and I can feel myself dissolving around him, but I can hear and feel him, too. The weight of his body is pushing me into the bed, but the weight of his despair is slaughtering me wholly.

It's the best and worst I've felt since the night before my birthday.

As he rides me, love's movements alter from measured to unconcerned. Guided strokes become negligent thrusts. Gentleness transforms into crudeness. Consideration is turned into mindlessness.

He's giving me what I wanted.

Only now that I've had what love can really feel like, this is a sick sadness compared—and I'm too fucking late.

Suddenly, Edward pulls out, but only long enough to turn me over onto my back.

Seeing his face is worse.

Any trace of the love I know is gone. I have his body. I have his lips. I have his hands. I have his voice, and I have his dick, but the energy is missing. Our ever-present-until-now intensity is being forced. I hear him telling me he loves me, and my heart drinks it up, but his words are empty. They're routine. They're what we're supposed to say.

This time, I settle my face into his neck. I'm soaking up and down my thighs and he's so slippery between me, but I wrap my legs around him, anyway.

"It's okay," he says, aching. "It's okay. It's okay."

My urgently seeking boy circles his arms under me, gripping so tight. He fucks in short, hard thrusts now.

He's hardly breathing.

He's barely moving.

He's holding on, like me.

Coming isn't so unhopeful the second time. He loves me. My boy kisses my mouth and hugs me hard. He whispers my name and swears he loves me.

"Know it, Bliss," he says. "Know it always."

He even smiles when my back arches. He licks under my chin and tenderly pulls my earlobe between his teeth.

He looks at me.

He really looks.

"Love stays, girl," he says as my eyes close and my body sets fire.

.

.

.

Looking back, Edward and I are marked by events— a timeline of occurrences.

When you're nine years old, love is not a concern. You think it's gross when your parents kiss, and you know the boys in school all have cooties. You're still playing with Barbies, and you're best friends with your mom.

When I was nine years old, I met Edward Cullen.

Looking over at him now while he smokes a cigarette behind the wheel of his car, it's hard to believe he's the same boy who told me he liked my hair color so much that very first day.

Edward was light back then, carefree and untroubled. He was guiltless.

That was the beginning of us; our first stamp. Nine and eleven—a princess and a troublemaker.

Almost eight years later, we've been through so much. Days pass in a blur when you're in love with a drug addict, so I don't remember every moment I've spent with Dusty, but there are certain instances I could never forget. Certain things that define who we are. The foreseeable things like the first time I snuck into his room or when he told me he loved me always stand out, but I find myself often looking back on the less predictable.

Like the first time I saw his toes.

It's so simple, but I'll never forget it.

It's an honest memory.

As we got older, things became more complicated and more consequential. There were things heavier than him lying to me or sleeping around that changed our lives.

I caught him snorting E once.

It was before cocaine, but after the first time we kissed.

That day had to have changed us, I felt it. I felt the weight of what he was doing while it was happening. And when he told me it was nothing, and I chose to believe him even though I knew, it molded who we are right now.

_Maybe if I would have said something to someone..._

Months passed and shit got worse. He beat the fuck out of Brady Fuller and Jake Black, and a new possessiveness controlled what we did and how we acted. The lightness in my boy slowly started to fade, but we went with it. Edward and I had a bigger goal in mind.

Cocaine makes Dusty brave. It turns him from carefree, to careless—invincible. When I was fourteen or fifteen, there was this one night he snuck into my room after he had been out with his friends. Back then, he didn't always tell me a lot. I knew what he was doing and when he was doing it, but he edited more than he told. He was cautious with his words and how he spoke to me.

He was always playfully dirty, but that night, while he had his fingers in me, he was vulgar; what he tried to get me to do was shocking.

By then I'd heard him refer to my center as a pussy or a cunt, and while it was scandalous, Dusty was a dirty talker and I liked it. I liked him uncensored. I liked the way he would smirk after he told me how beautiful my pussy was, or how hard I made his cock. The troublesome gleam in his blues was to die for.

My troublesome troublemaker boy.

But that night, his eyes were all black, and there was no smirk at all.

I was spread open, still a little shy, but I felt good. He was giving me what I had not even begun to understand I needed. He was talking to me like he would, and I was blushing like I did. His thumb was circling my clit and my forearm was over my eyes ... I was close.

He knew it.

He loved it.

Then, with the fingers that were just inside of me, he pushed my mouth apart.

"Fly with me, girl," he whispered in the dark.

There was a pill at my lips.

I dropped my arm from over my eyes and moved my head away from his hand.

He laughed lightly.

"Do you think I would hurt you, sunny side?" he asked, in a tone I didn't know well then, but know too well now.

He didn't remember any of it the next day, or if he did, he didn't say anything. But it's another one of those nights that keep me wondering.

It's not like it was only ever him. I'm fucked up in my own right.

Edward's my addiction.

I've lied for him. I've snuck, stolen, and fucked for him.

My body suffers withdrawals, inside and out, when I'm denied my dependance.

I know.

Looking around, we're not too far from my house. He told me not to worry, but I can't help it.

I don't trust him.

And this, too, is a stamp in our relationship.

"Edward..." I start.

My boy flicks his cigarette out the window before looking over at me. "I already told you," he answers, looking back to the road.

I nod.

In Edward's bedroom, after he pulled out of me and slipped my underwear back up my legs, he said he was taking me home. I began to panic and argue; I wasn't leaving, especially after that. But he kissed me, and it was sweet.

"You have to pack," he said. "Just put some shit in a bag. I'll be back for you."

I wanted to believe him ... so I did.

What other choice do I have?

I sat on the bed with his pillow in my lap while love took a quick shower. We didn't speak, but it wasn't awkward. In fact, for the first time the entire night I felt content. I watched him get dressed. He sat next to me while he tied his shoes. He kissed my forehead when he got up. He put his wallet in his back pocket and his cell phone in his front. He buttoned up his black and gray flannel and put on his belt.

He wouldn't meet my eyes, though. But he held his hand out for me, so I took it.

_Fuck his eyes,_ I thought.

"You don't need your hat?" I asked as we took the steps downstairs.

He shook his head."No."

Edward led me right to the front door, but I remembered my purse was still in the kitchen.

"I'll get it for you," he said, leaving me on the front porch.

"And my phone," I called after him, holding myself to keep warm.

"It's broken," he called back.

I stepped through the doorway just as he was coming back outside. He had my purse, but no phone.

"I'll get you a new one," he said.

I walked around him; I could tell he was lying. I know every time he lies.

"Bliss," he groaned, letting me by.

There's nothing wrong with my cell phone. Alice cracked the glass when she tossed it, but it still works. I didn't know why he didn't want me to have it. I didn't ask.

My heart is in my throat when we pull up in front of my house for the second time tonight. Edward kills the engine, but leaves his hands on the wheel. I don't move. I don't even look at my parents' home.

"Promise me," I say through the quiet.

My boy breathes through his nose before turning his body toward me. "I said I'd be back."

"When?" I ask, keeping my eyes on my feet.

"I'll call you," he replies, patting his pockets.

His white and red cigarette pack is on the dashboard.

"Come inside with me. It doesn't matter anymore," I say, finally looking over just as he turns the end of his smoke cherry-red.

Nicotine fills the cab of the car. Edward cracks his window.

"It does matter, B," he says with tobacco filled lungs.

I shake my head. "Edward—"

"Bella!" he cuts me off. With his hands under my chin, he forces me to look at him. He studies my entire face: my eyes, my nose, my mouth.

He licks his lips before saying, "I'll be back."

With tears that feel like fire, I pull my face free from his grasp and open the car door. The grass looks wet and the air is thick. My house is as dark as it should be at after three in the morning.

I thought I might not come back here; I'm disappointed I was wrong.

As I'm getting ready to push myself out of the car, not knowing if I'll have to meet my parents on the inside, Edward grabs my elbow and pulls me back in. There's a rashness in his expression that wasn't there a second ago. His hand trembles on my arm and there is a slight quiver in his chin. My boy's eyes are glossy, like he might cry.

"What?" I ask.

"I love you," he says, clearly. "Only you, you know. I love you only."

He sniffs.

I pull my arm free and get out of the car.

Before I close the door, I lean in so he can see me as clearly as I hope he can, and say:

"I love you too, boy."

.

.

.

Two hours later, the sun is coming up and I have my bedroom torn to pieces.

By the grace of God, my parents were in bed when I walked through the back door. They didn't hear me come in, they didn't hear Edward's Lincoln drive away, and they didn't hear the neighbor's dogs.

Those mutts were a little more excited than normal.

I might have kicked the fence as I snuck by.

_Fuck those dogs. _

Once I was upstairs, the first thing I did was take a long, hot shower. I pulled my shoes off and bent my toes a couple of times before I finally lifted my red dress over my head. Under the water, I took my time and washed my hair and reshaved my legs. I stood until standing became tiresome. Then I sat back and opened my legs, allowing the hot water to beat down on my sore middle.

I stayed in until my fingers and toes pruned and the water turned cold.

Wrapped in a towel, I slowly opened the bathroom door and tiptoed down the hall.

I didn't get far.

"Isabella!" my mom hissed in a whisper.

Holding my towel together, I closed my eyes before slowly turning around. She stood halfway out of her bedroom door, dressed in a white nightgown. Her face was sleepy, but her disappointment was unmistakably apparent.

"We're talking about this in the morning," she said before she closed her door between us.

Deciding what to wear was harder than it should be.

What does someone wear when they run away?

That _is_ what I'm doing.

I'm only seventeen.

I settled on pink sweats and a gray tank. After I braided my hair, I started to take my closet apart. Now, everything is thrown across my bed and spread across my bedroom floor. I can't bring it all, so I have to choose what I need the most, which is proving difficult. Just about everything I own means something or reminds me of whatever I did while I was wearing it.

With only socks and underwear in my duffel bag, I text Edward.

_I don't know what to bring. _

He replies right away:

_It doesn't matter. _

I smile and drop my phone back in my purse.

Twenty minutes later, my hair is starting to fall out of my braid and I've decided on a couple different pairs of jeans and my four favorite sweaters.

As I'm stepping over all the shit Esme's bought for me over the years, I realize none of it matters. I choose articles of clothing at random, throwing cotton and silk and lace and whatever-the-fuck-else in my bag.

I can buy more clothes later.

I'm going to be with my boy.

That's all I care about.

After shoving a couple of different pairs shoes inside my bag, I zip it up and toss it beside the door. I fill a second bag with my haircare products and makeup and curling irons, and finally, a third bag with things I can't leave behind: pictures and books, my iPod and every single friendship bracelet Alice ever gave me.

Once I'm packed, I leave my room before my parents come in. They're awake, now. The house smells like coffee and syrup. The TV is on, playing the local news. My mother must have opened the front curtains when she woke up, because the dull gray light from outside is coming in.

I kneel on the recliner by the window and look out, rocking back. I stare at the spot where Edward dropped me off last night.

_I wish he were here already. _

"Is it going to rain today?' I ask, knowing one of them will answer.

"You're asking me about the weather?" Mom replies in a dumbfounded tone

I move away from the window and the recliner and head into the kitchen. "Yeah."

Mom, still in her nighty, leans against the stove. My dad, who's sitting at the kitchen table, stabs at his pancakes. He looks up and nods his head, shoving a syrup-drenched mess into his mouth.

I sit across from him.

"What time did you get home?" she asks, looking over my shoulder toward her husband, awaiting her backup.

I pick at my already-chipped-polish under the kitchen table, and shrug. "About one." Lie.

Mom scoffs.

Dad points his fork at me, swallowing his bite. "I told you to be in early, Bella."

I shrug again. "Sorry."

Mom makes another noise.

I leave the kitchen before they start asking more questions, and after retrieving my cell phone from upstairs, I grab a blanket from the closet and wrap it around me before I park myself on the couch, waiting for Edward.

My parents try to call me back into the kitchen. My mom even come into the living room to glare, like I fucking care.

"This is why we don't let you out, Bella," she says. "You won't be one of those kids who disrespect their parents," she scolds. "We didn't raise you to be this way, Bliss."

_You didn't raise me at all,_ I think to myself.

I ignore her and text Edward instead.

_I'm ready._

I don't get a reply before I fall asleep.

.

.

.

I wake up to my mother trying to reach under the blanket for my cell phone. It's clutched not-so-snugly in my hand, and she already has her fingers on it. I tighten my grip around the only way I have to get a hold of my boy and pull it deeper into the blankets, away from her. I slip it between my thighs and hold onto red fleece with both hands so she can't get in.

Mom stands straight. While I slept, she changed into a pair of jeans and another one of my dad's flannels.

"It was ringing," she says, like she wasn't trying to invade my privacy.

She begins to clear off the coffee table, stacking together a few loose magazines. Mom wipes away some dust with her open hand before brushing it off on her jeans.

Groggy and so overtired, I take in my mother's words and wonder if it was Edward. My heart beats with a hard mixture of anxiety and hope. My chest fills with pressure—at any moment now he'll be here, and we'll leave.

He's coming for me.

He is.

"You know, Bella," mom says, restacking the Home and Garden magazines. "You've never given me any reason not to trust you..." she trails off.

I sit up and clear my throat. I can't be still, and I can't be down here at all.

"But after last night," she starts again.

With the blanket still over my shoulders and my phone in hand, I stand and head upstairs. I don't listen to what she tells me as I go, because no matter what she says, neither one of my parents have ever trusted me a day in my life.

Nothing's changed.

But halfway up the stairs, I ask, "Where's Grandma and Grandpa?"

Mom scoffs, but answers, "They left."

.

.

.

Back behind a door to a bedroom I never loved as much as Edward's, I drop the covers and walk over to my bed, shoving clothes I don't need anymore onto the floor.

It's already noon.

I don't have any missed calls.

Nothing.

From no one.

But still, I tell my speeding heart to calm. I bite on my bottom lip while I slide my finger across cracked glass, unlocking my phone. I check my text messages just to make sure my mother wasn't lying. Hoping that maybe Edward sent something while I was sleeping and she read it first.

My inbox is empty.

I scroll through my call history.

Renee said it was ringing.

She was lying.

The last call I recieved was from Garrett, yesterday before the party.

I pull my legs onto the bed and cross them while I sit back against the headboard. I press Edward's number and watch until the call goes through and I hear it ring. Bringing broken glass against my ear, I twirl a lock of hair that's fallen out of its braid around my finger.

My arms hurt, pressed down with anxiety.

My heart wants out of my chest; it's fighting so hard. My stomach, full of knots, bunches and twists. I curl and uncurl my toes. And the doubt I've been holding back for months is beginning to surface behind my eyes, in my joints and my jaw and my fingers.

Nervously, I tug and twirl and curl on my hair until some of it pulls from the root right as Edward's voicemail picks up.

I don't cry.

I call him again.

When his voice mail picks up a second time, I still don't cry.

I call a third time.

And a fourth.

It doesn't even ring the fifth time I call; it goes straight to voicemail—he's turned his phone off.

Instead of panicking, I lie flat on my back and stare up at the ceiling with my cell on my stomach, and I wait.

_He'll call. _

_I know he will. _

_._

_._

_._

I've been lying in bed for over an hour, staring at the walls until my eyes burn and water. I don't move or make a sound, afraid that if I do, I'll miss his call. I force my body to be calm and quiet. I don't breathe too hard or roll up and cry like I want to. I keep my arms at my sides and my head on my pillow.

During my quietness, I consider packing up my car and leaving. I can go to him instead. Edward can meet me at the dock. We'll leave my Rabbit, and my parents can pick it up later, once we're far enough away.

But I can't leave.

What if we miss each other?

What if he's coming here as I'm going there?

I can call Pete or Ben. They probably know where he is. But after last night... I'm not sure. I'm not sure I have anyone to call anymore. I don't even know if I have any friends left.

Taking a chance, I check the time. It's almost two.

I dangle my cell phone between my pointer finger and my thumb.

I want to call him.

I could.

I could call him a hundred times in a row if I wanted.

I'm just afraid he won't pick up.

Instead I get out of bed. I leave my cell on my nightstand and move to my feet. My room is a mess; cleaning it will give me something to do. It'll keep my hands busy.

I open my curtains first. Then my window. I turn my on my stereo for noise, even though I'm not listening to what's playing. As I'm picking up clothes from the floor, the bruises on my wrists that weren't so noticeable earlier are beginning to darken and show. My stucco-cut elbow hasn't bled since last night, but as I bend my arm it throbs. My hands are still scraped up and tender, and my feet, from running around in wedges last night, have marks where leather chafed my skin.

As I move around my room, every physical ache and pain surfaces.

My scalp hurts from having my hair pulled. My knees are rubbed sore from Edward's comforter. My center aches, even though he loved me first, he fucked me so hard after. The insides of my thighs are bruised, and my fingernails are bitten down too low.

Everything hurts.

Everything.

But nothing suffers as much as my heart.

My heart is in agony.

Dropping the dress I'm holding, I go to my nightstand and pick up my phone.

"Please, please, please—" I whisper achingly as I dial his number. "Please answer."

It rings.

And it rings.

And it rings.

When his voicemail picks up, I crumble.

I fall onto my bed and cry.

Like I've wanted to all along, I hide under the safety of my blankets, roll up and let go. I sob into my pillow. I scream. I dig my toes into my mattress and pull at my sheets. I cry until my lungs burn and my face tingles. I cry until my body goes numb.

I cry until I sleep.

.

.

.

When I wake up, my room is exactly as I left it. The radio is playing some random station, and a song I'm still not listening to is belting its chorus. My curtains are open and my window is letting in the breeze. The sky isn't gray anymore, though. It's pink and orange and purple, coloring my room with its setting sun.

I'm buried by my blankets, and my sheet is bundled underneath me, tangled at my feet. My pillow is still wet from when I was crying.

The only difference:

My bedroom door is wide open and my mom is standing in my doorway.

I blink a few times, trying to clear my head. I reach for my phone, knowing already that he hasn't called.

It's a little after seven, and my heart still sinks when I see I was right about Edward.

"Are you going somewhere?" Mom asks, her tone partway condescending and partway afraid.

She steps into my room and picks up some clothes from the end of my bed. She kicks my packed bags with the toe of her shoe.

I don't answer. I don't know what to say.

The person who birthed me walks around my room; she looks inside my empty closet and stares at my bare vanity. Mom brushes her hand over the cork board on my desk that used to have tons of pictures of me and my friends pinned to its surface, but now stands naked. She opens the top drawer of my dresser, but says nothing when she discovers it's not filled with my socks anymore.

"You've been up here all day..." she trails off, picking up the smaller of my three bags from the floor. She unzips it and looks in. "It's a little early to be packing for college, don't you think?"

I shake my head.

"No?" she asks angrily, slightly raising her voice.

She drops the bag to the floor, knocking it over. Some of my things fall out.

"Get out of that bed, Isabella," she orders, more upset than I have ever seen her.

I immediately start to cry again, but I don't get out of bed. I don't even move.

Her feet pound on the carpet as she storms over to me. Mom pulls the blankets off of my body and grabs me by my left wrist, sitting me up. "So help me Bella, get out of—"

I cry out, and she lets go.

Stunned, she takes a few steps back with her hand over her mouth.

I know what she's seeing.

My wrists are discolored and swollen, and I'm holding the one she grabbed against my chest.

I go for the blankets, but my mother reaches them first, pulling them completely off the bed. She runs to my bedroom door, and with her hands on both sides of the door frame, she yells for my dad.

I lie back down, still cradling my hurt arms against my body. Mom doesn't let me be, though. She sits me up again, this time by my shoulders. She clutches my chin and moves my head back and forth, searching for something. When my dad comes into the room, she has my hands in hers.

"Did you do that to her?" he asks, taken by surprise. Like he doesn't understand what he's seeing or what's happening.

Mom turns my arm over and finds my elbow.

Dad takes a few more heavy steps into my room.

"Who did this to you?" Mom asks, down on her knees in front of me.

_Victoria, Garrett, Alice ... Edward._

"Answer her, Bella," Dad's deep voice echoes off my bedroom walls.

I shake my head, pulling my hands from my mother's. I wipe my nose. "It was nothing," I lie. "There was a fight and I got pushed into—"

Mom falls back on her heels, and she looks at me like she never has before: suspiciously.

"You're lying," she says, her voice eerily calm.

Our eyes meet, and she sees through me, staring every lie I ever told her right in the face.

I look away first.

Mom stands and hold out her hand. "Give me your phone."

I hold it tighter. "No."

Mom reaches for it, but I turn away.

She turns to my dad, whose ample and daunting presence makes him look more like a cop and less like my father. His arms are crossed over his chest while he watches how I react, looking for evidence to prove my untruth.

"Ask why her bags are packed, Charlie," Mom suggests, looking back at me.

Dad's entire body stays as it is, but his eyes move. They notice the same things my mom's did when she came in: my closet, my vanity, my dresser, and my bags.

The only familiarity in my dad is in the same eyes that are roaming over all of my things. They're soft, light brown unlike my green, unwrapped. While his chest fills up with a frustrated breath and his arms drop to his sides, his eyes are unwilling to believe while taking in what he sees: the evidence he was looking for.

"What's going on?" he asks me, clearing his throat from any real emotion.

"Dad," I say softly, looking away from him.

"Answer me, Bella. Now." His voice is steady, controlled. Firm.

Meanwhile, my mother, who has walked away from me, opens all of my bags. She pulls most of my clothes out and unzips every zipper. She searches through everything, even my purse and wallet. She takes my car keys and puts them in her pocket. She opens my makeup bag and dumps it out; pink Jadeite falls with lip gloss and blush. My mom has no idea of it's significance and looks right over it.

"Give me your phone," she demands one more time.

Compared to my dad, she's only half as intimidating and easy to ignore. I hold onto my cell, turning my knuckles white. The pressure in my wrist hurts, but I won't let it go.

Losing it would hurt so much more.

"Bella, don't make me—" she starts, but Charlie cuts her off.

"Renee, enough!" he finally yells, not even looking at her. "Tell me what the hell is going on, Bella, or I will turn this whole room upside down."

He's not lying, and they'll find out eventually.

I look up at him, and as calmly as I can, through steady tears and shortness of breath, I say,

"I'm leaving."

With mom at my side and my dad in front of me, I keep my head down while they take a moment to process what I just said. Mom scoffs, and as I look back up, Dad runs his hand through his dark hair, like he doesn't know what to do.

"What?" he asks.

I give him my eyes; this might be the most honest thing I've said to him since I was nine years old.

"I'm leaving ... with Edward."

I've never taken much consideration into the way my parents look. I've always noticed that my mom isn't as extravagant as Esme, and my dad is exactly what a small time chief of police should look like. My mother has always worn her hair the same way, and my dad will never shave his mustache off, but they look just about the same to me as they did when I was two, or five … or ten. They're typical—they're my parents.

But if it's possible to age a person with words, I've just done it.

Like lifting a veil, they're seeing who I am for the first time. The light from both of their eyes dulls. Wrinkles I've never noticed on my mother's face suddenly appear. My dad's hair looks more gray than black. Their shoulders sink and their expressions change, making them seem less alive, wary of everything.

My mom and dad look older.

"You're not going anywhere," Charlie says, his tone thick.

I bite my bottom lip, tasting my salty tears. "Dad," I begin, so sorry I've hurt them.

But I knew.

I always did.

As hurt as they are, and as bad as I feel, none of it makes a difference. They will be my parents no matter what happens, but a life without Edward wouldn't be living at all.

They can't keep me here.

"You're not leaving this house, Isabella," my dad speaks loudly, making me jump.

As my family is breaking apart, my cell phone finally rings. I don't answer it, but I look down and see his name and picture.

Then I hear his car.

So do my parents.

All three of us look toward the window, but my mom is the only one who moves.

I don't need to see. I know it's Edward.

I know he's down there.

With her hands on the windowsill, Mom leans out. "Charlie," she trails off.

But that's all she has to say; my dad is already halfway down the stairs.

When I hear the front door open, I rush off the bed. My mom stops me before I can go out my bedroom door, though. Her arms act as barricades, and when I try to push past her, she has no problem pushing me back.

"Please," I plead desperately.

My hands are shaking. So are my arms and my legs and my eyes and my teeth. I can hardly see straight. I can't breathe or cry or scream. I feel trapped, and the walls are closing in on me. Everything I want in the world is outside being confronted by my father, and I can't do anything about it because my mother is holding me back.

"You're not leaving this room, Bella," she says with tears finally falling from her eyes.

My heart beats against the inside of my chest. I feel it in my throat and in my bruised wrists. I feel my pulse race in my stomach and under my fingernails. It echoes through my shoulder blades and my knee caps. I even sense it in the ends of my hair.

Besides panic, my heart is the only thing I do feel.

I turn away from my mom and run to my window. The curtains have fallen back down, and instead of pushing them apart, I rip them down.

Wearing what he wore when he dropped me off, my boy is standing at the end of the driveway with his hands in his pockets and his head down. Charlie is about five feet in front of him. Even though I can't hear his words, I know he's threatening and forbidding.

To anyone else, it may seem like my dad has the upper hand. He's bigger and older and louder than Edward. He's the chief of police. He's a father. He's feared and respected. But love has never had much respect for titles. This is his world. Edward doesn't have to shout or cuss or hit to get his point across unless he wants to.

He can fuck you up with one look.

As my dad speaks, walking closer and closer toward my so-apparently-high boy, Edward finally looks up, and smirks.

It sends my dad over the edge he was barely teetering on.

I don't watch anymore; I turn and push through my mom's arms. She grabs the back of my tank top as I pass her by. Stuck, I twist until her grip slips and I'm let loose. I take the stairs three at a time, watching my feet as I go. The front door is partly open, but when I reach for the knob, my mom comes from behind me and slams it shut.

I manage to open it again, but she's stronger. It slams closed a second time.

With her chest to my back and one hand on the door over my shoulder, Renee uses her other hand to pull me away by my upper arm. I stumble back a few steps, but catch myself before I fall. With me out of the way, she uses her entire body to block the way out.

"Get back into your room," she demands with a shaky voice. Her eyes are glossy and her cheeks are red, but she isn't crying. She's too worked up.

I turn and run through the kitchen instead of fighting with her. The back door is unlocked and open by the time my mom catches up with me. I let it hit the wall, not caring if it strikes her or not, and I force my feet to move. I run through wet grass and over rocky gravel. I run past the barking dogs and around my car. I outrun my shouting mother, who's behind me, but nowhere as desperate as I am.

As I circle around the house, the sun is almost all the way down, lighting the front yard in dark purples and heavy blues. The street lamps have turned on, and the front porch is lit by a 40 watt bulb.

Edward and my dad have moved from the driveway to the lawn. My boy sees me as soon as I come into view, but my dad has his back facing me. Love's dark eyes linger my way before slowly shifting back to Charlie's. Edward holds his hands up, as if surrendering. He shakes his head. He looks down.

Then my dad pushes him.

I scream, "Dad!"

Like I did when my mom pushed me, Edward stumbles back but doesn't fall.

My mom grabs my wrist, out of breath and panting, just as Charlie pushes Edward again. This time love falls to one knee, catching himself with his hands.

Too dire to care about my bruised wrists, Renee holds on to my right forearm with both hands. I groan against the pain, but fight for my arm.

"Mom... Mom, please! Please!" I cry, outrageously.

If she only knew that this is why my arms look like this in the first place.

I pull down on her hands, but she doesn't let go. I tug and jerk and push. I scream in her face. I scream until what's left of my voice goes out. I think about biting her, or pulling her hair. I consider pushing her into my car. I almost kick her. I dig my nails into her hand. I cry. I beg.

It's not until the next door neighbor comes out of the house to see what's going on that she lets me go.

With both of my hands free, I hurry and slide my thumb across the damaged glass on my phone. It slices me open this time, drawing blood, but the pain doesn't register.

While the phone rings and my mom tries to explain to the neighbor that everything's okay, I hurry away from her and run toward my boy.

Halfway across the lawn, Petey picks up.

"Hey, princess," he answers, easily.

My dad pushes Edward, and this time love laughs as he stands back up.

"Petey!" I cry into the phone.

"What's wrong?" he asks frantically.

Before I can answer, the phone's knocked out of my hands. It falls to the grass; I can't tell if the call has been disconnected or not. As I bend down to get it, my mom circles her arms around me and spins me around.

We're about the same size, but a mother's strength is incomparable. I kick and I struggle and I pull us to our knees, but she doesn't let up.

"Mom!" I cry, pushing against her chest. "Let go!"

It just makes her hold tighter.

"What's wrong with you?" She forces us from our knees to our bottoms.

Between her knees, with her arms wrapped around mine and her cheek pressed on the top of my head, I can't answer. There are so many things wrong with me. Everything is fucked up.

Our friends were never supposed to find out the way they did. Alice was never supposed to throw my purse at me. My mom was never supposed to block the door. My dad shouldn't be pushing Edward into the fence.

This is where we've fallen, though.

Literally.

My hair has come undone from my braid and water from the lawn is soaking into my sweats. I've stopped fighting, only because the harder I fight, the stronger she holds.

Our neighbors from across the street have come out of their house.

"Renee, should we call the police?" they ask, standing on their porch.

Dad has Edward backed into a corner, but steps away from my boy long enough to answer. He holds his hand up and manages to speak without yelling.

"Everything's okay, you can go back into your house," he says. His hands are trembling.

Crying in my mother's arms, unable to move, I watch my dad and Edward. I can tell by looking into my boy's eyes that he's spun. They're entirely black and wide. His face is still busted, swollen from his fight with Garrett. Love's lip is red, but scabbed. He's patting his pockets nervously, looking for his cigarettes. Charlie asks him a question and Edward spews the answer. He's pacing, but my dad won't let him by.

"I just need to talk to Bella, Charlie," Edward barks angrily.

"You're not going near my daughter," Dad replies, shoving Edward back as he tries to move past him.

Edward looks at me and spits in the grass. He straightens out his flannel before meeting my father face to face.

"Do you think you could keep me away from her?" he asks, smirking condescendingly. "You haven't done such a great job so far, cop."

Charlie grabs Edward by the front of his shirt and slams him onto his stomach, shoving his knee into love's back like he would some criminal. Edward goes down hard, the wind knocked out of him. My boy coughs, gasping for air, but recovers quickly, laughing and keeping his eyes on me as my dad holds his arms down.

I lose my fucking mind. I dig my heels into the ground and push back until my mom falls. Her hold on me loosens and I'm able to get onto my knees before she pulls me back down. I'm crying for her to let me go. I bury my fingers into the grass. I fall and get back up. My sweats are grass-stained and wet. My hair is crazy. My tank top is stretched out. My mom grabs my wrist and I scream.

"He didn't do this!" I yell, cradling my hurt arm against my chest.

She actually lets me get up, but she stays close. I try to go around her, toward my boy who is still under my father's knee, but she stands in my way.

"I don't even know who you are," she says lowly, brushing curly hair out of her face.

"You can't keep me here, Mom," I cry.

Mom's head snaps in my direction. "You don't think so?" she asks, sternly. "You're only seventeen years old, Isabella."

"I don't care," I answer defiantly.

She's taken aback, but before she can say anything more, Petey's black and white Caprice pulls into the driveway behind my Rabbit. He's alone, and he doesn't even bother turning off the car before he opens the door to get out.

I go straight to him.

"Bella!" Mom calls, but she doesn't chase after me.

I run right into Petey's arms, crying into his neck. I need him to protect me like he always has.

"What the hell is going on, little sister?" he asks, circling his arms around me for just a moment before he pushes me back by my shoulders, looking at my face.

I'm crying while I explain, shaking my head, trying to breathe. "We're leaving … We're going, and he showed up. My dad keeps pushing him, and my mom won't let me go."

"You need to slow down. I don't understand a fucking—"

He's cut off by the arrival of a second car.

The black Mercedes I know so well screeches to a stop right behind the Lincoln, facing the wrong way in the street. Esme is out of the car first. She runs around the front of the vehicle, dressed in a white top and black pencil skirt. She has Alice's Vans on, though, like they were the only things she could find in a hurry.

Carlisle exits the car next, as collected as he always is. In slacks and a light blue button up, he's rolling up his cuffs as he walks up the driveway.

"You called them?" I ask Petey, who just nods his head.

"Get away from my son, Charlie," Carlisle demands, with just the slightest hint of rage in his tone.

Staying back with Petey, I watch as Esme runs heads toward my mother. They immediately start arguing. My mom is pointing her finger like she always does, and Esme is standing with her arms crossed, stunning, even now. But as my mother continues to explain what's going on, I see Esme's defenses fall and confusion take their place. My second mother looks at me from over her shoulder before giving her attention back to a woman she could never really stand.

"Did you know?" my mom asks madly. "Did you know about them, Esme?"

I take a few steps in their direction. Petey grabs my hand and follows, holding me back when I get too close.

Esme shakes her head, visibly crying. "I thought... I—"

Both women look at me, disappointment so apparent.

"I thought maybe, but not like this," Esme finally answers.

They turn away.

"I trusted you with my daughter!" my mom shrieks. "I trusted you to take care of her!"

"I did!" Esme defends. "I did. We love her, Renee … I would never!"

On the other side of the lawn, Edward is back on his feet. Carlisle and Charlie are not having a much different conversation than my mom and Esme are. Except, Charlie is noticeably upset and Carlisle is cool.

"Do you think I would allow this under my roof if I knew, Chief Swan?" Carlisle asks, eying his son with nothing less than choler.

Charlie laughs spitefully. "I don't know, Carlisle. Do you know about anything that goes on under your roof?"

Carlisle takes a step forward. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Look at him!" Charlie roars, pointing at Edward.

Maybe for the first time in a while, Carlisle does.

.

.

.

We're two kids who fell in hopelessly in love.

Our intentions were never vindictive. Although we accepted we probably would, Edward and I never wanted to hurt anyone. We're selfish, not malicious. Our souls are not made of ice; they're warm. All we ever wanted was to be together. Addiction and dependence and jealousy and spitefulness changed a lot of things. Our circumstances made true liars out of us, and turned our innocent love into crazy love.

Somewhere along the line it shifted from hopelessly to helplessly.

While Petey holds my hand and our parents fight, Edward and I look at each other through the chaos. We're both broken, busted and scarred, but my heart beats for him. He's my life. He has been since I was a little girl. He's it for me.

The beginning.

The end.

I slip my hand from Pete's and walk across the lawn.

Edward meets me halfway.

He's crying, slowly and silently. Love's eyelashes are wet and his black eyes are soft, as caring as cocaine can be.

My boy reaches for me, sliding one hand to the back of my neck and placing the other on the side of my face. He pulls me in close, and leans down until our foreheads touch and our noses brush.

"_Baby, baby, baby..."_ he whispers breathlessly. His tears fall onto my cheeks.

"Edward, let's just go," I say, clutching onto the front of his flannel. I'm afraid our parents will pull us apart. I'm afraid of what will happen when I let go.

Edward smiles sweetly. His eyes are on mine.

"I remember the first time I ever saw you, Bliss. I think about that shit all the time." He presses his lips together before continuing. "I loved you then, you know."

I nod my head. My vision is blurry. Hot tears roll from my eyes.

"We can talk about this later, Edward," I say, moving closer.

Edward's hand falls from my face, to my shoulder, and slides down my arm. He takes my discolored wrist and holds it up, showing me.

"I'm looking at you, girl," he cries, choking on his words.

I glance away from him, and away from my arm. I stare at the ground. I try to process what he's saying. But I come up with nothing, because who cares about my fucking wrist? Who cares about any of it? I've been through worse. We've been through so much more than this.

"What?" I ask, pulling on his flannel with my free hand.

He closes his eyes and I see the shadow of the boy he used to be underneath. He's still there behind pale skin and addiction. He's hiding under Dusty, declared mini-foul before he even had a chance to be anything else. He's mixed with the purple under his eyes and the cut on his lip. He's in the sweetness in his smirk and the kindness of his touch. He's there.

I haven't forgotten him.

I haven't given up.

"Bliss," Edward says under his breath.

"Edward," I whimper, pulling him down.

He hugs me. He kisses down the side of my face with wet lips. He cries against my skin, holding nothing back. He sobs. He shakes. He whispers love.

"I wish I could take your eyes with me," he says, pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth.

I shove him away and stare, trembling with a thin heartbeat.

"I'm going with you, Edward," I insist.

He pushes his hands into his hair, looking over my head, toward the willow tree that means so much more to me than I've ever told him.

We walked through those branches. Those leaves.

It's where he came for me.

His eyes fall from the tree to me. With his fingers tied up in his hair, he shakes his head. "You're not, B."

Refusing to believe what my heart is already telling me, I ask, "When are you coming back for me?"

Love's hands drop. He wipes his eyes in the elbow of his flannel and takes one more step toward me.

"I'm not coming back."

He looks down before meeting my eyes. His face is expressionless, like he's turned everything off. The black in his eyes has shifted from soft to hard, and all too consuming. My boy is still crying, but he can't help it. He can't turn that truth off.

"You're lying," I answer without air.

He clears his throat, patting his pockets. Love looks at me; he breathes in through his nose, flaring his nostrils. Edward's eyebrows draw together. His chin quivers.

There is no light in him when he says, "I promise. I promise I'm not coming back for you."

The breaking of my heart is unlike anything I have ever felt in my entire life.

It's everything and nothing at all. It's the worst pain ever, but entirely numbing. It's maddening, but without passion. I want to scream, but I have no voice. I want to turn the world upside down, but I have no strength.

It's being put to death with no life to give.

It's being full of dread, but feeling entirely empty.

It's being completely still when all you want to do is collapse.

Heartbreak is having every moment play before your eyes like you're dying. It's pink spinning wheels and soccer balls. It's cake in baggies and teachers that smell like peanut butter. It's zombies and princesses. It's Reese's Pieces and no bake cookies. It's clothes that smell dirty and butterfly tattoos. It's finding the dock, and it's kissing for the first time. It's accidentally saying I love you. It's wanting to own your belly button. It's _"If you were here, I'd probably eat your elbow."_

It's scratches down his back, and boots that save the world. It's seventeen different shades of pink nail polish, and blue like his eyes used to be. Heartbreak is walking in on him in the bathroom as he's zipping up his pants, and _"I can kiss you like she does." _

It's seat belt bruises across his chest, and being a gentleman. It's when he kicked my backpack across the empty room, and _"Tell me you're with Garrett so I can lay that motherfucker out."_

Heartbreak doesn't feel a thing like falling. It's broken chairs, and too full bathtubs. It's when Edward told me Dim wanted to be teacher, not a drug dealer. It's concert tickets and looking for my ruca.

Heartbreak is being a back seat baby, and wearing heels on your birthday. It's a decade under the influence, and The Fault in our Stars. It's saying no every time he asked, and staying up all night until he got home. It's _"Tell me a secret, Bliss. Come on, tell me something."_

It's remembering the way his face looks when he's inside of me. The way his lips part and pout. The way his eyes close, but not for too long because he hates not looking at me. It's feeling him between my legs and around my body. Heartbreak is the memory of his muscles under my palms and his breath on my lips. It's his hair between my fingers and, _"I knew it. I fucking knew it."_

It's Sluts and Boys, secrets and lies, cocaine and peppermint marshmallow, and love is a traitor. It's birthday candles and gray bed sheets. It's creating dozens of rules to break and one to keep so it can never be broken.

"_Rule number six: no promises."_

_"Okay." _

_"Promise?"_

_"Promise."_

_"And that's it."_

_"That's the only one."_

It's knowing.

Heartbreak is knowing.

My heart breaker is in front of me, lifting my chin, pushing hair away from my face. "It's okay, B. It's better... it is."

I snap out of it.

I grab the collar of his shirt and pull. I cry like I've never cried before. I fight like I have nothing else to lose, because I don't.

I have no best friend, no family, no Edward.

I have nothing.

The worst part is he lets me. This life taker just holds onto me while I tug and punch and yell. I rip his shirt. I re-split his lip. I scratch his face. I pull his hair. I take us to our knees.

"I've done everything!" I cry, collapsing against him. "You can't leave me, Edward."

Our eyes meet and they stay for a moment, remembering, loving, memorizing.

Edward reaches up and twirls a lock of my hair between his fingers. He watches strawberry blonde dance in his hand before letting it fall.

Then we're being pulled away.

My dad hugs me to his chest and pulls me to my feet, then into his arms.

When he carries me off, I watch over my dad's shoulder as Esme takes a few steps in my direction with her hands over her mouth. Petey helps Edward stand. He searches his best friend's pockets, and when he finds love's keys, he tosses them to Carlisle.

Mom opens the front door to the house, and Dad follows, with me held tight.

The last thing I see before the door shuts is Petey shoving Edward into the back of his car. My boy pushes back, crying … looking right at me.

.

.

.

The next morning, I tell my parents everything I think they should know. Which isn't much. Just enough to stop the questioning.

I assume they see the story I tell them as only a half-truth of what the last eight years were really like.

My parents choose to blame Carlisle and Esme. They blame themselves and Edward. They don't come out and say it, but they blame me too.

_They should. _

In the days that pass, the bruises around my wrists fade, but the ache in my heart doesn't. To make it worse, Charlie replaces the locks on all of the doors, and Renee has the home phone number changed. They never give me my cell back. They make me sleep with my bedroom door open, and they won't let me leave the house.

My mom goes through my room, confiscating anything she recognizes as a gift from the Cullens. She finds pictures of me and Edward and cries to herself quietly, but she doesn't ask me about them. She doesn't even take them away.

I let her have the hoodie that was already ruined with bleach, and I don't say anything when she carries my computer and iPod out of my room.

I keep pink jadeite, though.

As more time goes by, Mom and Dad have no problem reminding me that I won't be eighteen for another four months. Their house, their rules.

The conversation always starts with: "You're still our daughter and as long as you're a minor living in my home—"

I don't care.

Time doesn't mean much to me.

Nothing does.

I'm only a girl with a broken heart, half-alive.

Without him, that's my deal.


	38. Bliss

Summertime gives no fucks.

The sun doesn't care if you're in the mood for it or not. It doesn't matter if you're all mixed up and made almost totally of countless, unanswered questions. It isn't concerned with your lack of sleep, blurred together days, or recently developed, wayward and quick-tempermentality. Ultraviolet warmth heats you from the outside-in, beating down on you in rays so hot, so strong, you can't feel anything but them soaking into you from millions of miles away. It sinks you in waves. You can actually feel it start to burn sometimes.

Here and now, with the Rabbit's top dropped and the miles rolling by, it feels good.

While impartial and unapologetic light slowly shines my skin end-of-August pink, short strands of red slip and fly from two twisted little knots behind each of my ears. They tickle my neck and cheeks, but they're not long enough to be bothersome. Late summer is thick all around me, but it's moving and welcome. The wind soothes tingling heat with ocean air, and I'm alone, but I'm so alright. I'm not one hundred percent well, but I can't remember the last time I was this close to comfortable.

I'm okay.

I'm kind of, sort of, really okay.

A motorcycle passes me and the station wagon that's ahead of me, one lane over. Highway 101 is fairly empty save for myself and the wood paneled boat on wheels, and I'm grateful. It's why I wanted to leave in the morning, on my own, even though Renee was hellbent on driving me, like keeping me under outrageously stringent surveillance the last fourteen weeks hasn't been enough. Like breaking down every time I don't want to talk, and sanctimoniously stealing all the blame isn't enough. Like moving me to fucking Forks, Washington nine fucking years ago wasn't enough.

_"Do you really think that there is one single person in this entire town who's not going to love you, Bliss?"_

I roll my eyes behind new sunglasses. I'm not angry, not really. It's just crazy.

My dad was right. There wasn't just one someone; there wasn't even just one family. There were so many people. Even the ones I'd rather have chewed glass than sat next to wanted my company. They only had pieces and versions of who I was, but so many people still wanted to be my friend.

And all I wanted was him.

And now...

I have to laugh. Not out loud. Not happily, but there's this truth here and now, and a taste in my mouth that's so _ironic_.

Even after it all came out, and everybody knew about the two of us, even after maybe everything Victoria had ever wondered but never actually, legitimately suspected to be true, turned out to be totally right, she still had a smile for me.

She's maybe the only one.

On the Fourth of July, Mom needed two more eggs so she could finish something else that was going to fix all of our problems. I was still what my parents were calling "not grounded" to the same four walls I'd spent every day and night in since graduation. It was fine considering I wasn't really dying to go anywhere. Nowhere changed anything and nothing mattered. I wasn't surprised or affected at all when Mom took her apron off instead of asking me to run to the store for her like she would have before. And when Grandma spoke up, saying some fresh air and vitamin D would be good for the two us, I didn't think much of it. I just went along.

Half-alive.

Without.

Not even a ghost anymore.

Going along wasn't only what I did; it's what I was. Aimless. Purposeless. Too heavy to even drift.

Ocean-bottom fucked.

Grandma drove and I rode, every bit as silent as I'd been for however many hours had passed since I last saw him. I'd lost track. I didn't care.

At the store, she caught up with some friend she hadn't seen in some years in the parking lot, and I made my way inside, ambling toward what we came for. Egg carton in hand, I turned the corner of aisle six and almost walked right into the last person I ever expected to see again.

Victoria was surprised too, but she smiled, and the whole sight of her made everything rush right back. Bonfires and bathroom secrets and birthday sleepovers I never wanted. _"You fucked Mixie? Seriously?"_ and _"I know how it is, little sister,"_ and _"Whatever, because, who cares about Edward Cullen?"_

The girl whose lighters and hair ties I was finding on Dusty's floor before I ever even knew what the fuck a blowy was, laughed a little. She still looked older than her age, but definitely better than the last time I'd seen her. Diamonds studded her ears and black was all gone from her green eyes. They shined confidence. She looked just like she did the first time I saw her six years ago at First Beach, under orange-glowing street lamps.

She was the most stunning girl I'd ever seen, all over again.

She'd ditched the cigarettes, holey jeans and black Chucks for white shorts, flip-flops and a pre-made package of hummus.

Victoria was standing in front of me holding what I was positive my mother got her hooked on, and I couldn't help it, I laughed for the first time since mid-May. It was small and mostly air, and nothing really, but I did it

And naturally, as cool as ever, so did she.

"Hey, little sister," she said, still smiling. "Long time no see."

I ignored the fleeting, random, ridiculously intense and intensely fucking ridiculous urge to hug her, and tell her to take me away from there, anywhere but there, and just said "Hey," instead. I tucked hair behind my ear and looked around, then back at her. "What are you doing here?"

She rolled crystal greens and ran her fingers through dark locks like she always had. It looked healthy, split-endless and full, nothing like mine. "My mom wants to cook for her new boyfriend or whatever, and I wanted to help."

I glanced at the sun dried tomato and basil chickpeas in her hands with lifted brows.

She rolled her eyes again. "I'm kind of addicted to it." She looked at me, up and down, but her smile stayed. "What are you up to? How are you?"

Checking my rear view mirror and refocusing on the road ahead, I nudge strawberry-blonde fl y aways away from my face.

Victoria and I are not the same. I've never rolled or flown or spun myself on anything, and she's never had parents who cared to put their feet down. I've only ever been with one boy, and she's been with... more. She's wild and free and completely honest no matter what anyone else thinks. Unlike myself, with Victoria, what you've always seen is what you've always got.

But, we are similar.

We've fucked in search of love, to get and guard our habits. We've both put obsession before well being, and we've both been chosen over and left behind.

_The difference?_

Victoria doesn't look her age, but who the hell does? She's been to dark places, some I know, some I can imagine, some I'm sure I have no idea of―but she stands, and she walks with her shoulders back and her chin high. She owns who she is, broken pieces and all.

So when she asked how I was, instead of faking it like I always had before, instead of going along like I had for months, I told the truth.

"Shitty," I said, light and casual with my attempt at honesty. "Kind of... yeah, really shitty."

She laughed. Not at me, but the half-under-her-breath, half _tell me about it_ kind. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I nodded.

"That sucks," she said, lifting her left hand up curiously. "Pete said he's tried to call you."

I nodded again, looking at my feet. I had on flip-flops too, but the purple paint on my toes was chipped and the ends of my sweat pants were stepped-on and frayed.

"Yeah." I nodded some more, frustrated and bitter at myself, my mom and dad, him, the world. Everything. "They took my phone and watch me like fucking hawks." I shifted my weight, tapping my thumb against the carton of eggs in my right hand. "Not that anybody wants to see me anyway, but, yeah..."

There was a beat of quiet, and I thought _maybe I should stop. Maybe I shouldn't say anything else_, but the truth felt so good even though it was messed up. I wanted to keep talking. I wanted to say something about the worst part of all of it, about _him_, but I didn't know how to even begin putting that into words.

I sort of sighed and shifted my feet again, and just said "yeah," one more time.

It was all I had.

Victoria said it, too, like maybe she knew. Like maybe she understood.

"Hey," I restarted, my brain turning and working, just then registering what she said about Petey trying to call me. "How's Ben?"

This girl, the one who marked love up while I was teeth-chattering over hot chocolate, smiled. She really, truly smiled, the duck-your-head-and-peek-at-your-toes-while-your-cheeks-go-pink kind.

"He's good," she said, and I knew. I knew the sparkles in her ears and in her eyes are from him. None of us stayed any kind of together, but they did. They are.

She practically beamed. "He's coming home tonight."

My heart stung a little, jealous and hungry and still so sore, but it wasn't her fault. Or Ben's.

"That's good," I told her, because it was. It is.

Then, it was quiet for another beat, and another, and we were at the point in the conversation where there wasn't much left to be said. So, I pushed my unbrushed hair back again, and I made to get going, but she stopped me.

"Hey, wait," she spoke up. "Here," she said, handing me the hummus while she dug through her purse and pulled her phone out. "What's your number?"

"Oh..." I felt my eyebrows dig together over my nose and my cheeks heat a little. The cellphone my parents replaced my old phone with isn't the coolest one, and I literally never used it. I had no idea what my own number was without looking it up.

"Sorry," I said, turning my phone on and reading the numbers off to her.

"Cool." She smiled again. "See you, Bliss."

And for the first time in our whole lives, I didn't hate it.

While I was sunk at the bottom and too heavy to drift, I did a lot of packing, unpacking and repacking everything. I did a lot of leaving shit out all over the place and being unable to begin to care. I stared at my ceiling a lot.

I wondered where he was, a lot.

Instead of showering, or eating, or getting out of bed, I played out possibilities in my head. I imagined whole arguments sometimes, every twitch and every flinch, right down to the perfect shade of black. The first time I did it, I played out our make-up sex, too.

It did way more damage than the fight before it.

I was wreckage, anchored by a heart I hated for keeping me alive. Skinny, dingy, and indolent, I let the life I was left with go to waste, but that day, when I got home, I still hurt, but I felt somehow better. Not stronger necessarily, but at least like I wanted to be. I cleaned my room and made an appointment to get my hair cut. I went for a walk and kept walking until the stars came out. I cried when fireworks opened up above me, but what could I do?

The next morning, I stood up straighter. I shaved my legs and put on mascara, and I demanded my iPod back.

"You can keep me here, but you can't keep music from me. It's inhuman."

And music...

Music helps like maybe nothing else.

Maybe there's a reason for everything. Maybe it was good I didn't have access to it at first, because even when Renee gave it back to me almost two months after everything, there were still some songs I couldn't listen to.

But music...

Music is love.

Music touches when you can't feel anything else in the whole world.

It's crying yourself to sleep with Damien Rice and shouting along with Billy Talent in the shower. It's dance-walking down your street with Marcus Mumford because you know in your busted-up heart that even though it hurts like fuck, love will not betray you, dismay or enslave you.

It will set you free.

It's packing everything one last time with Face to Face, and demanding your Docs back. It's deciding which memories to take and which to put away forever with a little help from all the Followills. It's crying some more with Death Cab for Cutie on the way to Northwestern, because even though you've been on the floor and fearful, even though you're a single life, even if it's just you and Ben Gibbard, we're all one, and we are alive.

I keep the music up after the song ends, swiping drips of pure vitality from my cheeks. I let the sun caress me down, all the way to my bones.

When I was nine years old, my purpose introduced himself, and I have spent nearly every moment since trying my absolute hardest to let him kill me. I thought for so long, so deeply and truly that Anthony Edward Cullen was the reason I was born. I knew it. I was certain.

But then he left.

He left.

And my heart buckled.

It broke.

It put all of me out of commission for a long time, but there's a lot that your favorite books and even your favorite songs don't tell you. There are some things you can only learn by surviving them, like even if it feels like a huge hole has been punched through your chest, eventually―whether you want to be or not, whether you like it or not―you'll realize you're still alive. In spite of all your not eating, in spite of waking up every day wishing you hadn't, in spite of half of itself tearing away, your heart keeps beating.

So when my reason and certainty left and stayed gone, how could I not question everything else? I dragged my heart around for months, hating it for working in my soul's absence, hating that I could exist without him.

But I could.

I did, and if my one absolute truth was false, what about the rest?

If love can live without love, maybe anything can happen and nothing ever has to make any sense.

Maybe Victoria really does understand.

Maybe nothing is anyone's fault.

Maybe we all just... do things, because we all want love.

It's still hard.

His birthday was really, really hard.

_But what is there to do?_

My heart doesn't say _love_ like it used to. It says _live_ now.

_Live. _

It's no more a choice than _love_ ever was.

So I do.

I live.

I am finally, for the first time in my life, exactly who I am:

A strawberry-blonde with collarbones that show.

I have my mother's eyes, my father's nose, and a scar on my chest, right over my heart, from a boy that once loved me stronger than the ocean is deep and hotter than fire burns.

I crack my toes when I'm nervous, and my French accent is to die for.

I can double Ollie on a skateboard, drive a stick shift with my eyes closed, and I know the words to every Beatles song ever recorded. I can cuss you out in Italian, make 7-11 Slushee art like a champ, toast the perfect marshmallow, and I have one girl's number in my phone. I know how to tell real diamonds from fake, and I know who to find if I ever need a lawyer for anything. I've died alone in a bathroom stall, come back to life underneath the weight of truelove in a hotel bed, and died again in the shade of my favorite tree. I've blacked out in a ditch and looked up at heaven from a grocery cart.

My freckles come out when the sun shines. My favorite color is clear blue, and I can have exactly two shots of anything before I feel it.

I know it's okay not to know. I always eat the middle bite of peanut butter and jelly first, and I will never, not ever pierce my belly button.

I get really scared sometimes that I'll never feel the way I felt with trouble. And maybe I won't. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe these worries and our deal and what is and what should never be is all enough for one lifetime. Maybe this story's old and it will just go on, and on until we all disappear. Maybe we're all just capsules of energy, and maybe love means giving your soft spot a white blank page even if it kills you.

Maybe I'm not lucky.

Maybe I'm blessed.

Maybe I'm a monster, too.

Maybe all my friends were vampires and it turns out I was a vampire myself, and we're all just looking for something to sink our teeth into without any crying.

Maybe we're all ornery, scandalous and evil.

Maybe that's how it's supposed to be.

Maybe all the boys, all the girls, and all that matters in the world are all doing time, or maybe all the world is ours like they say in Scarface, kid.

Maybe everything you get is everything that you wanted.

Maybe you can't choose what stays and what fades away.

Maybe our hearts are strong and our hands are weak, and maybe I brought this on us more than anyone could ignore.

Maybe now I'll be patient and fine and balanced and kind. Maybe I'll raise my hands, paint my spirit gold and bow my head.

Maybe here I am, and it's in my hands, and I'll savor every moment of this.

For life.

My lips are curved up into an easy and accepting smile when the phone in my middle console vibrates against hard plastic. I think maybe it's my mom ; so I turn the music down, ready to tell her I'm not even to the ferry yet, but it only vibrates once.

I flip the cover open to find one new message from Vic.

_Good luck today, little sister._

It's her way of saying love.

Maybe it always was.

Glancing between the road and my phone, I type quick, grateful love back and close my phone, setting it back in the console just as I pass the first sign for Kirkland. The station wagon to my left stays steady ahead of me and my skin is all but humming with summer light. I'm definitely going to burn. It's probably going to hurt later tonight.

_Bad choices._

I can't bring myself to reach for lotion or thin long sleeves though. The heat feels way too good now. The breeze kisses my sun-blush and the miles keep rolling by.

I think about everything before now, and everything that could come after. I think maybe _this_ is my moment. Maybe every moment is the one I've waited for my whole life, and I think I want to be right here.

In it.

Better or worse.

Shitty or perfect.

I think maybe to live doesn't mean you're alive, and it's a cruel and beautiful world, and I want to be alive through all of it.

Right hand on the wheel, I move my left hand with the wind and sing along to a song about dust and bones and darlings and falling. Just when the girl and boy and their echo-beats get to the best part, the station wagon ahead of me turn s and exits left.

And I pass another sign for Kirkland.

And my cell vibrates again in my middle console.

So I turn my new favorite song down, but before I reach for my phone, my heart sort of skips. My stomach kind of somersaults, and I don't recognize the number when I flip open the screen, but I think I know.

I feel like I know.

I know.

I'm not waiting anymore, but I waited so long for this.

Checking my mirrors, I turn on my signal to exit toward Northwestern. With blood that knows and skin that knows and a heart that knows, I accept the call. And because love is a great and and many things, because some promises are meant to be broken, I bring my phone to my ear and smile higher than I have since the first time I couldn't help it.

Present, honest, and alive, I part my lips and say out loud exactly what love means to me:

" Hello."


End file.
